Jim broke into the first team on Wednesday.

That night there was a celebration at Sunnywood. Jeffrey began it with two bottles of ginger ale which he produced after study hour. They drank Jim’s health in that enticing beverage and then Poke suggested that some cake wouldn’t be half bad. So Hope was summoned and Mrs. Hazard was appealed to and the party adjourned to the dining-room where a spread worthy of the occasion was speedily forthcoming. Every one was very merry save Jim. Jim was wondering when the sword would fall, for he had flunked badly that morning in mathematics and had barely scraped through in Latin. And that was why he protested when Poke had the merry thought of inviting Mr. Hanks to the feast.

“Oh, no,” said Jim, “let him alone, Poke.”

“I think he ought to participate in our merry-making,” Poke persisted. “You run up and invite him down, Hope.”

“Shall I?” asked Hope, her eyes dancing.

“No,” said Jim. But the others insisted and Hope hurried away on her errand.

“Well, anyway, he won’t come,” predicted Jim. But he did. He didn’t quite know what it was all about, but he and Hope were very good friends by now and he came unquestioningly, smiling and blinking behind his huge spectacles. It was explained to him that Jim had that day attained to the utmost pinnacle of success by being taken onto the Crofton Academy Football Team, and Mr. Hanks murmured “Dear, dear! I want to know!” nibbled at a piece of cake and wondered how soon he could in decency return to his interrupted labors upstairs. Finally he did go back, shaking hands with Jim in an absent-minded way first, with one of Mrs. Hazard’s serviettes dangling from his coat pocket. The party proceeded quite as merrily without him, however. Poke rallied Jim on his quietness.

“I fear the sudden honor is too much for you, Jim. You used to be rather a merry youth. To-night you remind me of a graveyard gate post. Why so sad?”

“I’m tired,” murmured Jim.

“Then, Jim dear,” said Mrs. Hazard, “I really think you had better not eat any more cake. I’m sure that must be your fifth slice. And you ate a great big supper.”

“You don’t mean to say you’ve been counting the slices!” ejaculated Poke. “Why, that’s not like you, Lady.”

“She couldn’t count all you’ve eaten,” declared Hope. “You’re a—a gridjon!”

“A what-on?” asked Poke anxiously.

“A gridjon. A gridjon is a person who eats too much.”

“Webster or Hazard?” laughed Jeffrey.

“It’s a perfectly good word of my own,” replied Hope with dignity.

But although Jim tumbled into bed in short time he didn’t go right to sleep. Instead he lay awake for quite a while wondering how long, if he didn’t make a much better showing in class, faculty would allow him to enjoy his new honors. And when sleep did come to him finally it was because he had comforted his conscience with the firm resolve to buckle down to-morrow and study as never before.

But, alas, how many of our good resolutions survive the night? The next day was filled with new experiences for Jim, and much hard, gruelling work on the field, and a blackboard lecture in dining hall after dinner. And so, when study time came, he was tired and nervous and his thoughts absolutely refused to concern themselves with studies. And the following day Mr. Groff, the mathematics instructor, lectured him in front of the whole class, which didn’t improve Jim’s state of mind a bit, and Mr. Hanks viewed him sadly but forebore to reprimand him. In his other studies he was doing fairly well as yet.

There was no practice on Friday and Jim locked himself up in his room, in spite of the fact that Johnny had instructed them to stay out of doors and take mild exercise, and heroically studied. But the faculty of assimilation seemed to have deserted him of late and it was the hardest sort of work to make anything stick in his memory for more than a minute. But he kept at it until supper time and then emerged tired and fagged.

In the Merton contest the next day, the last before the “big game,” Crofton showed flashes of first-rate football. Although he didn’t say so, Johnny was well satisfied, for he knew that, barring accidents, his team would play at least twenty per cent. better a week from that day. Crofton was still coming, and a team that is coming is better than one that has reached the zenith of its development. Merton went down in defeat, 17 to 8, after a hard-fought battle. Best of all, Crofton emerged from the fray with scarcely a scratch, at all events with no real injuries to any of her players. Jim played well in that game. For four twelve-minute periods he forgot all about Latin and mathematics and thought and lived football. And Johnny, who hadn’t liked the haggard look in Jim’s eyes, concluded that his fears were groundless, and confided to Captain Sargent after the game that “That fellow Hazard is the best find of the season.”

And then, on Monday, the sword fell!

He was summoned to the office at noon. What Mr. Gordon said and what excuses Jim offered are of small consequences. We are interested in results. The result in this case was that Jim emerged from Academy Hall feeling that life was indeed a very tragic thing. That afternoon Parker played at left guard on the eleven and all the school knew that Hazard was “in wrong with the Office.”

Johnny was a philosopher. Such things had happened to him before. He wasted no breath in regrets nor recriminations. He picked the next best man for Jim’s place and went ahead. Perhaps he was a little grimmer in the face that afternoon and a little more silent, but that was all. Duncan Sargent, his nerves already jangling as a captain’s nerves are likely to jangle when the last week of the season arrives, was in despair.

“First it’s Gary,” he groaned, “and then it’s Marshall and now it’s Hazard. Well, I’d like to know what’s going to happen next! We might as well hand the game to Hawthorne and save the trouble of playing!”

Poke, to whom these remarks were addressed just before the beginning of practice, was as gloomy as his captain. He had known nothing of Jim’s misfortune until a few minutes before, for Jim had not shown up at dinner hour and Poke had not glimpsed him since morning.

“Gee,” he muttered, “it’s all a surprise to me. I never suspected that Jim wasn’t getting on all right in class. You don’t suppose J. G. will let him back in a day or two?”

“I don’t know,” answered Sargent despondently. “What if he does? A fellow can’t drop training for two or three days on the eve of the big game and then play decently.”

“Jim could,” said Poke thoughtfully. “I wonder where the chump is. I suppose he isn’t here, eh?”

“I haven’t seen him.” Sargent shrugged his broad shoulders. “What’s more, I don’t want to. If a fellow doesn’t think enough of the success of his school to study a few silly lessons we’re better without him.”

“Oh, be good,” Poke chided. “It was only two years ago that you were off for a whole week for the same reason, Dun.”

“And I learned my lesson,” said the other gloomily.

“Well, I suppose Jim Hazard’s learning his,” replied Poke. “Only I wish he’d chosen some other time. How’s Parker going to fit?”

Sargent kicked viciously at a football that had rolled up to them. “Rotten!” he said.

Practice went badly that day, just as it’s likely to on the Monday after a hard game, and there was a general air of discouragement about coach and players alike. The second team, grumbling over the loss of another lineman, smashed vengefully at their opponents and tied the score in the second half of the scrimmage. And so it stayed and the second credited themselves with what was virtually a victory. Gil, Poke and Jeffrey walked home together after practice and talked over Jim’s predicament.

“Success,” said Gil, “was too much for him.”

“That’s not fair,” remonstrated Poke. “Jim got onto the team late and has had to learn a whole lot in a short time. Hang it, Gil, I haven’t been doing any too well at studies, myself, and I’ve been playing football long enough to know the ropes. I don’t wonder that Jim fell behind. The question now is can he catch up and square himself with the Office before Saturday?”

“Is it all studies or one or two?” asked Jeffrey.

Poke shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Why didn’t he say something to some of us? I noticed that he seemed rather down in the mouth, but I didn’t suspect this. I thought he was just worried for fear he wouldn’t make good at playing.”

“Who do you suppose started the trouble?” asked Gil. “Who do you and Jim have, Jeff?”

“Hanks in Latin and history, Groff in math, Arroway in English, Lewellyn in French and Thurston in physics.”

“Well, it might be ‘Gruff,’” said Gil, “or it might be ‘Boots.’ (‘Boots’ was the popular name for Mr. Thurston.) It isn’t likely that Hanks had anything to do with it; nor Lewellyn. As for English, why, no fellow has trouble in that course.”

“I’m not so sure about Nancy, though,” said Jeffrey. “Ever since we turned him into a tyrant he’s been pretty fussy about us having our lessons. But I think it was probably Groff that started the trouble. He gave Jim a calling-down in class last week.”

“Gruff always was a tartar,” grumbled Poke. “I never knew a mathematics instructor who wasn’t.”

“Well, the question is,” observed Gil, “is there anything we can do to pull Jim out of his hole? There’s five days yet before the game. Something might be done.”

“I don’t believe Johnny would let him play after being laid off,” said Poke gloomily. “Dun’s got a grouch against him, too.”

“Well, the first thing to do is to find him,” said Jeffrey. “I haven’t seen him since physics.”

“I suppose he’s feeling so mean he’s hiding out somewhere,” Poke suggested. “I don’t blame him for being cut up about it.”

Jim, however, wasn’t very far off when the trio entered the gate. He was sitting at the table in his room with his books spread before him looking disconsolately out of the window. “No more athletics, Hazard, until your marks are considerably better in all studies, Latin and mathematics especially,” had been Mr. Gordon’s ultimatum. Jim had spent the dinner hour sitting on a spile near the bridge, gazing into the water and wondering on the lack of gratitude displayed by Mr. Hanks. For Mr. Gordon had distinctly said that it had been the Latin instructor who had made complaint. Jim was through with the team and wouldn’t have shown up at training table for anything. Nor did he want to go home and face his chums at Sunnywood just then. Besides, he was much too disappointed and miserable to want anything to eat. Of course, he had reflected, it was all his own fault, but that knowledge didn’t seem to make the situation any easier. He found a little satisfaction in calling Mr. Hanks names. It seemed to him that after the way they had come to Nancy’s assistance with advice the least he could have done was to have been a little more lenient with Jim Hazard. He wished he had never gone in for football; wished he had never come to Crofton. Then the bell rang and he dragged himself back along the river to Academy Hall and a French recitation. After that there had been physics, and then, when most of the fellows were setting their faces toward the field, he had hurried home and shut himself in his room. His mother had sought entrance and he had put her off with the plea that he was busy studying, but as a matter of fact there had been very little studying done that afternoon. His thoughts simply refused to stay on his books. It was almost dark now in the room, and through the window the western sky was paling from orange to gray. He heard the gate click and then came the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Some one knocked imperatively at his door.

“Hello?” he growled.

“We want to come in, Jim.” It was Poke’s voice. And the tone told Jim that Poke had heard.

“I’m working,” replied Jim, more gruffly.

“It’s time to quit. Open up, like a good fellow.”

“Too busy,” replied Jim. There was a whispered conference beyond the door and then footsteps died out along the hall. Jim felt more lonely than ever then and wished he had let them in. But pride kept him there behind the locked door until the supper bell rang, and then until Hope came up to find why he wasn’t down. Hope had to beg her hardest before she was admitted. Then Jim said he wasn’t hungry and wanted no supper. All he wanted was to be let alone. So Hope went out quietly, closing the door after her, and, being a rather wise young lady, prepared a tray. After she had taken her departure for the second time Jim sat and looked at the tray for a long time; to be exact, just as long as his courage lasted. Then he gave in and ate everything in sight. After that life didn’t look quite so dark, and when, presently, Poke came knocking at the door again, Jim bade him enter.

They talked it all over then, Gil and Jeffrey sort of happening in, and Poke was highly incensed at Mr. Hanks’ conduct.

“After what we did to help him!” he said disgustedly.

“He has only followed the advice we gave him,” observed Gil dryly. “What goes for one goes for all, Poke.”

“He hasn’t a grain of—of gratitude,” spluttered Poke. “And what’s more, I’d like to tell him so, too.”

“If you talk so loud you won’t have to,” said Jeffrey. “He will hear you now.”

“Let him! He’s the limit!”

“Stop calling names and let’s see what’s to be done,” Gil counseled. “Think you can catch up by Friday, Jim?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I can’t seem to get down to studying. I’ve been trying to all the afternoon.”

“Well, I can’t promise that Johnny will take you on again even if you get square with the Office,” said Gil, “but seems to me it’s worth trying. You get your books and go over to Jeff’s room. After awhile we’ll go over to-morrow’s stuff with you. Maybe between us we can coach you up, Jim. I’m not much of a Latin student myself, but Poke gets on pretty well in that; so does Jeff. As for math, why, I’ll do what I can for you there. What do you say?”

Jim thought a moment. He was still inclined to feel hurt and imposed on. But the offer was too good to be refused, and so,

“All right,” he muttered. “I’ll try it.”

Jim’s showing in class the next day was not much better, but on Wednesday there was a marked improvement. Every night Gil, Poke and Jeffrey took him in hand and put him through his paces in mathematics and Latin. Jim was not stupid, and now that he had more time and constant encouragement he went ahead in good shape. If Mr. Hanks suspected the sudden coolness exhibited toward him by Jim and Poke he made no sign. Personally I don’t believe that he gave it a thought. He had done what his duty required of him in Jim’s case and that was all. That his action had cost Jim his position on the football team and deprived the team of a good player he did not know. He went his way serenely unconscious of the trouble he had caused.

Meanwhile the team worked like Trojans every afternoon, the football enthusiasm and excitement grew to fever heat and Thursday dawned. Thursday was the last day of practice. The whole school marched to the field at four o’clock, cheering and singing. Even Jim allowed the others to persuade him to attend the final practice, and he and the rest of the Sunnywood, saving Mrs. Hazard, who had lost her interest in football, now that Jim no longer played, followed the procession, Hope wildly enthusiastic and attracting many admiring glances on the way.

There was nothing spectacular about practice that afternoon. After the preliminary work the rest of the time was spent in a hard signal drill and one fifteen-minute period of scrimmaging, the latter being halted for minutes at a time while one or other of the coaches, who had grown quite numerous by now, criticized and lectured, begged and threatened. Around the field, outside the ropes which were already in place for Saturday’s game, all Crofton cheered and sang. Then the final whistle sounded, the second team gathered together and cheered the first, the first tiredly returned the compliment and players, coaches and onlookers trailed back to the gymnasium.

Poke, a faded blanket hanging about him, found Jim on the way out.

“I spoke to Sargent about you, Jim,” he panted, “and he says if you can get square with the Office by Saturday he’s willing to give you a chance in the game if he can. That is, of course, if Johnny says so. I haven’t talked with him yet, but I will. Of course, Jim, you won’t get in at the beginning. You see, Parker’s doing pretty well and it wouldn’t be fair to throw him out at the last moment, would it? Besides, you might be a bit stale, you know.”

Jim nodded gloomily. “I know. Much obliged to you, Poke, but I guess it’s no use. I don’t even know that J. G. will give me leave to play yet. I’m pretty square with Groff, but Nancy doesn’t love me much, I guess. Don’t bother about speaking to Johnny. It’s all right.”

“Oh, I’ll see Johnny,” responded Poke heartily. “You do the best you can and go and have a talk with J. G. to-morrow. Why, supposing you don’t get in for the whole game, Jim, even a couple of periods is better than nothing at all. And you’ll get your C if you only play two minutes. Buck up and never say die, old chap!”

Jim nodded again and Poke, clapping him on the shoulder, hurried into the gymnasium. They were cheering again now, cheering each member of the team in turn, from Sargent down to the latest member, Parker. There was no cheer for Hazard, though. Jim had got parted from Hope and Jeffrey, and presently he edged his way out of the gathering and strode home alone and forlorn through the twilight.