“Well, I guess you’re lucky to find your lifework so early, Zo,” he said gravely. “Some fellows don’t find it until they’re considerably older. And some, it seems, never do find it. If you will leave your fiddle and come back, we’ll take you to the Palace and quaff a beaker to your future success.” So Zo bounded into the Andersons’ and reappeared breathlessly in something less than forty-five seconds, and the three proceeded along the sunlit road in pursuit of milk-shakes. CHAPTER VII DRAFTED Barry saw Clyde daily. Clyde seemed to expect it and Barry was anxious that their friendship shouldn’t wane. That it was in danger of waning was evident, not through the desire of either but because they belonged to different classes and so their paths lay apart. Clyde’s intimates had been chosen from those of secured position. Some had won standing in athletics, usually football: others merely on the score of family wealth or prominence. They didn’t constitute a large proportion of the student body, but they were always much in evidence and managed to exert a good deal of influence in school affairs. Clyde’s efforts to include Barry in his circle were doomed to failure from the first. Barry had arrived unheralded, with none to vouch for him save Clyde; and Clyde’s own position among the “right sort” was none too secure as yet. Perhaps had Barry made earnest efforts to please he might, after a proper novitiate, have been accepted. But Barry didn’t, and he realized that Clyde’s friends resented his presence. Clyde sought to make Barry feel at ease, but he soon adopted a patronizing tone that the other didn’t relish, and as a result Barry’s evening calls at Number 42 Dawson became fewer and fewer and he relied on seeing Clyde during the forenoons, between recitations. Now and then a day passed with no more than a dozen words between them, and Barry blamed himself and, recalling his obligation to the other, made greater efforts the next day. Once――it was the Sunday following the Shefford game――Clyde walked out to the Lyle house shortly after dinner and found Barry and Peaches on the porch, surrounded with Sunday papers. Although Barry took the visitor up to his room, Clyde remained but a few minutes. A week after that, when Barry’s father and mother motored over to see him, Clyde, informed of the coming visit, was on hand and helped Barry do the honors during the four hours of their stay. When Mrs. Locke said gratefully that it was splendid of Clyde to look after Barry so well, Clyde, while verbally disclaiming credit, was plainly of like opinion. Mr. Locke, whose eyebrows had raised slightly at first glimpse of Barry’s room, cast a shrewd look at Clyde and said, “Hm!” in a tone that meant anything you liked.