At a few minutes past eight that evening Joe clattered hurriedly up the stairs of the house in Mill Street and thumped imperatively at Andrew’s door. Just why he thumped didn’t appear, since he threw the door open without waiting for permission. Andrew looked up inquiringly from his book in the yellow radius of light around the table.

“Hello,” he greeted. “Slide under the bed and maybe they won’t find you.”

“It’s that idiot, Myron,” announced Joe breathlessly, and sank into a chair.

“What’s he done now?” asked Andrew interestedly.

“Bolted!”

“Bolted?”

“Beat it—vamoosed—lit out—gone!”

“Where? What for?”

“I don’t know where, but he’s gone. I suppose he’s headed home. He’s in wrong at the Office over Latin, and this morning Doc Lane told him to quit football. He was to have gone along with us to play Day and Robins, you know, and was all keyed up about it. I didn’t get many of the details: only saw him for about three minutes just before we left: but he was talking then about firing himself and hiring out to Kenwood for the rest of the year.”

Andrew frowned. “A sweet thought,” he murmured sarcastically.

“Oh, he wouldn’t do it,” said Joe. “He likes to talk like that, but he’s all right behind his mouth.”

“I hope so. Where—when did he go?”

“Search me. I know he was gone when I got back at six, or a little before. I thought, of course, that he was around somewhere; probably at Alumni. But he wasn’t at dinner and he didn’t show up afterwards, and I remembered his line of talk this morning and got to snooping around and found his suit-case gone and some of his things; brushes and sponge and the like of those.”

“Maybe he got leave to go home over Sunday.”

“I thought of that and found out from Mr. Hoyt. Had to be careful so he wouldn’t get suspicious, but I got away with it, I guess. He hasn’t asked for leave; and wouldn’t have got it anyway, I guess. No, he’s just plain beat it.”

Andrew whistled softly and expressively.

“That fixes him,” he said regretfully. “On top of probation——”

“That’s the point,” urged Joe. “He’s dished for fair if faculty gets wind of it. That’s why I came. I can’t go. I asked Driscoll and he said nothing doing. So it’s up to you, Andy.”

“Up to me? Go? Where?”

“Go after him and bring him back,” answered Joe. “I looked up trains. He probably waited until after dark, because he wouldn’t have risked being seen with a suit-case, and if he did he must have taken the six-eighteen for New York. There’s no train for Port Foster out of Philadelphia until seven-twelve tomorrow morning. He might stay in New York overnight or go on to Philadelphia, so the best way’ll be to go right through to Philadelphia and watch the Port Foster trains.”

Andrew stared amazedly. “Look here, Joe,” he said, “are you suggesting that I go to Philadelphia after Myron?”

“Sure,” answered Joe impatiently. “What did you suppose? And you’ll have to get a hustle on, too: it’s about eight-fifteen now and your train goes at nine-five. I’d go in a minute, but I’m in training and the rule’s strict, and if I got caught—fare thee well!”

To Joe’s surprise, Andrew began to laugh. “Well, you’re a wonder, Joe,” he gasped. “Why, man alive, I can’t go traipsing all over the United States like that! I’m beastly sorry for Myron, but——”

“Why can’t you?” demanded Joe, scowling. “Some one’s got to, and that’s flat. If he’s caught away from school without permission they’ll chuck him as sure as shooting. Why do you say you can’t go, Andy?”

“Why—why, for one reason, I can’t afford it, you idiot! How much do you think it’ll cost to go to Philadelphia and back? I’m no millionaire! Why——”

“I thought of that.” Joe pulled a roll of bills from his trousers pocket and flung it on the table. “There’s twenty-five, all I have right now. It’s enough, I guess.”

Andrew stared at the money in surprise. “Well—but—look here, I’ve got an engagement in the morning. And how do you know I can get leave?”

“Take it! No one’ll know you’re away,” said Joe. “Gosh, we’ve got to risk something!”

“We have? You mean I have, don’t you?”

“Oh, what’s the difference? Myron’s a friend, ain’t he, and we can’t let him go and kill himself off like this without making a try, can we? Besides, the team needs him bad. If he’d hung on a bit longer he’d have been full-back and—and everything! I—I’d like to wring his silly neck!”

Andrew smiled. Then he stared thoughtfully at the table. At last he seized the roll of money, thrust it in his pocket and pushed back his chair. “Guess you’re right, Joe,” he said. “What time did you say the train goes?”

“Nine-five.” Joe jerked out his watch. “You’ve got forty minutes. Better pack a toothbrush and a night-shirt, kiddo.”

“Pack nothing,” replied Andrew. “A toothbrush and a comb will see me through, and those go in my pocket. I want that brown book, though, and some sheets of paper. Better have my fountain pen, too. You’ll have to take a message to Wynant, 29 Williams, for me, Joe. Better do it tonight. Tell him I’m called away and can’t be around in the morning. I’ll see him when I get back. Now, what about the dogs? Mind coming around in the morning and letting them out and feeding them? Good! We’re off, then.”

Andrew turned out the light and they fumbled their way to the door. Outside, Andrew gave the key to Joe. “Don’t forget the dogs, Joe,” he reminded. “Now, then, tell me again about these trains. It’s Philadelphia I’m going to, is it?”

Joe explained carefully as they hurried through the illy-lighted streets toward the station. “Better get to Philadelphia by the first train you can make, Andy. You can sleep on the way, some. The first Sunday train for Port Foster leaves Philadelphia at twelve minutes past seven. There isn’t another until ten-something. He may wait for that. You’ll have to watch for him on the platform. For the love of mud, Andy, don’t miss him!”

“I won’t!” answered the other grimly as they entered the station. “Wait here a minute. I’m going to call up the Office.”

“The Office!” exclaimed Joe aghast. “What for?”

“To get permission.”

“But——”

“I know. I won’t. Here, you buy the ticket. Get it to Philadelphia and return if you can. I’ll be right with you.”

Andrew was as good as his word. Joe viewed him anxiously. “Did you get it?” he asked.

Andrew nodded. “Yes. I told Mr. Hoyt I had to be away overnight on important matters. He hemmed a bit at first, but finally came around. So that’s all right. I feel rather better for having faculty’s blessing, Joe.” Ten minutes later the long train rolled in and Andrew climbed aboard. He was going into a day coach, but Joe pulled him back and hurried him down the platform, past a hundred lighted windows and hustled him into a parlour-car. “Might as well be as comfortable as you can,” he explained. “You can get a pretty fair nap in one of those chairs if you don’t mind waking up with a broken neck! Good-bye and good luck, Andy!”

“Good-bye. See you tomorrow afternoon or evening. Don’t forget Tess and the puppies!”

Then the train pulled out and Joe heaved a sigh of relief and made his way back to the campus and Williams Hall and the indignant Mr. Wynant.

About the same time Coach Driscoll and Captain Mellen were talking things over in the former’s lodgings. Parkinson had played smooth, hard football that afternoon, bringing encouragement to both, and their countenances still reflected satisfaction. “Looks as though we had struck our gait at last, Cap,” said Mr. Driscoll, puffing comfortably at his pipe.

“It does look so,” agreed Jud. “It’s time, too, with only two more games before Kenwood.”

“Well, I’d rather see a team come slowly and not reach the peak too early in the season. I’m more afraid of slumps than the smallpox, Mellen. Remember year before last’s experience?”

Jud nodded. “If we can hold it where it is, Coach, we’ll be all right, I guess. Some of the fellows certainly played themselves proud today: Keith and Meldrum and Norris——”

“And Mellen,” suggested Mr. Driscoll, smiling through the smoke.

“I guess I didn’t do so badly,” Jud allowed. “But that Dobbins was the corker, when you come right down to brass tacks, don’t you think so?”

“Dobbins played as remarkable a game as I’ve seen in a long, long time,” was the reply. “The way he opened holes in the D. and R. line was pretty. They weren’t holes, either, they were—were nice, broad boulevards! A stick of dynamite wouldn’t have made more of a mess of their centre!”

“And he’s all there on defence, too,” said Jud. “Steady as a concrete wall. He and Keith work like twins.”

“Pretty,” agreed Mr. Driscoll. “I guess there’s no question as to who’ll play right guard against Kenwood. I wish, though, I knew who was going to play full-back.” Mr. Driscoll frowned. “You’re sure Foster’s out of it?”

“Fairly. I only know what you know. I haven’t seen him. I’m not surprised, though. He was beginning to show a good deal of side and you know yourself that when a fellow gets his head swelled he comes a cropper one way or another.”

“I know. Still, we mustn’t be too hard on the boy, for we’ve paid him a good deal of attention and that’s likely to turn a chap’s head unless it’s screwed on pretty tightly. And we’ve worked him hard, too. Maybe he hasn’t had time to do enough studying.”

“Well, he’s out of it, anyway. It’s hard luck, for I thought he was coming along finely. I guess it will have to be Kearns, after all.”

The coach nodded. “I haven’t lost hope of Kearns yet, Cap. He’s got it in him to play good football. I was wondering, though, if we could spare Brounker for the position. He’s a good half, but we may not need him there, and perhaps with some coaching between now and three weeks from now he’d be better than Kearns.”

“I suppose there’s a chance of Foster getting clear before the Kenwood game,” said Jud doubtfully, “but he wouldn’t be much use to us.”

“Mighty little,” replied the coach. “Of course, if he was off only a week it would be different. In that case we could take him back and have him handy in case Kearns went bad. But I don’t know——”

“I guess I’d better see him in the morning and find out what the prospects are. If he will saw wood and get rid of his conditions, or whatever his trouble is, by a week from Monday——”

“Yes, tell him that. Brow-beat him a bit. Get him on his mettle. I’ll see him, if you think it would be better.”

“I’ll take a fall out of him first,” said Jud. “By the way, he and Dobbins room together. It might be a good scheme to get Dobbins after him. I guess they’re pretty close from what I hear, and maybe he’d listen to Dobbins when he wouldn’t to me. Well, anyway, I think we can lick Kenwood this year even without a full-back,” he ended.

Mr. Driscoll smiled and shook his head. “Let’s not be too sure, Mellen,” he said. “Wait until the Sunday papers come. Six to six sounds pretty good for Phillipsburg, but we don’t know yet how many of her subs Kenwood used. That coach of hers is a foxy chap, and it may be that he was satisfied to get away with a tie and leave us guessing. Perhaps he thought we had scouts over there today, looking them over.”

“I sort of wish we had had,” said Jud. “Oh, I know your idea on the subject, Coach, and I’m not saying you aren’t right, but, just the same, it’s a handicap. Kenwood sends fellows to watch our playing and gets lots of useful information, I’ll bet, and we have to depend on what the papers tell us. And most of that guff is written by fellows friendly to Kenwood. If the Kenwood coach wants the news to go out that the team is rotten, it goes out, and we have to swallow it. I’d give a hundred dollars to see her play Montrose next Saturday!”

“That’s high pay for acting the spy,” replied the coach gravely. “See here, Jud Mellen, you’re a fair and square, decent sort, from all I’ve seen of you, and I’ve known you for three years. You wouldn’t pick a pocket or lie, and I’ve never yet seen you doing any dirty work in a game. Then just how would you explain it to your conscience if you went over to Kenwood next Saturday with the idea of seeing how much information you could get hold of regarding Kenwood’s plays and signals and so on?”

“But, gosh ding it, Mr. Driscoll, I wouldn’t wear a false moustache and all that! I wouldn’t sneak in, I’d go openly. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t see Kenwood play a game of football just because I happen to play with Parkinson!”

“Not if just being entertained was what you were there for, Cap,” answered the other. “But it wouldn’t be. You’d be a spy, and you know it, old son. That’s what I object to. When the time comes that it is an understood and mutually agreed on thing that members of one football team are welcome to see another team play, why, then I won’t make a yip. But you know how we love to get word here from the gate that a Kenwood scout has gone in! We cut out new plays and try to look worse than we are.”

“You mean we would if you’d let us,” laughed Jud.

“You do it, anyhow,” said the coach, smiling. “I’ve watched you too often. The last time we had visitors I asked Cater why he didn’t use a certain play in front of the other fellow’s goal and get a score and he looked innocent and said he’d forgot it. No, we’ll get along without that sort of stuff, Mellen, while I’m here. I don’t like it a bit.”

“Well, I said you were right,” Jud laughed. “I just had to have my little kick. Hello, nearly ten! I must leg it. I’ll see Foster in the morning; Dobbins, too; and let you know what I learn. Good night, Coach.”