True to his word, Jimmy arrived at Number 27 Upton shortly after supper. Stick, to whom Russell had imparted the proposed solution of the problem, was not present. Stick had succinctly declared that Russell was crazy and that he refused to listen to any more of his ravings. He had not, however, refused to keep store in the afternoon in return for having his mornings free, and that was the principal thing.

Jimmy declared that he had feared Russell might change his mind about employing him and so leave him jobless in the face of a long and cruel winter, and consequently he had hurried right up so soon as he had satisfied the inner man. He had brought his schedule and when Russell had produced his they leaned over the two cards and, as Jimmy phrased it, doped out a course of action. On the whole, Russell’s hours and Jimmy’s seldom interfered, and there were but two mornings when for more than sixty minutes the store would have to be left to Mr. J. Warren Pulsifer’s care.

“Corking!” declared Jimmy. “I’ll go down Monday morning with you and you can show me where things are and all that. Something tells me, Emerson, that I was born to be a merchant, and Heaven help any poor guy that steps his foot inside that store while I’m there. He will either have to buy something or fight me!”

“Better try peaceful means first,” suggested Russell, smiling.

“Oh, yes, I shan’t insist on trouble. By the way, are there any punching-bags in stock? It might be well for me to keep in trim. Let’s see, how do you do it?” Jimmy rubbed his hands and bowed to Russell. “Good morning, sir. Nice weather we’re having, are they not? Tennis balls? Certainly. Right this way, please, to the tennis department. Here you are, sir, the finest ball on the market. Used exclusively by the Prince of Wales, Lloyd George and all the best players. Covered with the most expensive Peruvian broadcloth. Every ball filled with two thousand atmospheres of balloon gas, making it the lightest and liveliest ball on the market. As I might say, sir, it’s bound to bound. We are making a special price on them this year, eighty cents apiece or five dollars a half-dozen. If you take six dozen we include a high-grade racket. With a gross we give you, absolutely without charge, a receipt for making indelible ink. Half a dozen? Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Shall I wrap them up or will you take them with you?”

“Aren’t you mixed on your prices a little?” laughed Russell.

“Possibly.” Jimmy waved carelessly. “I never was good at arithmetic. By the way, you haven’t a cash register, have you? No? That’s good. I’d never be a success as a salesman where there was one of those things to keep tabs on me!”

“Austen,” asked Russell, sobering, “what are you doing this for?”

“This? Oh, you mean this. We-ell—” Jimmy blinked. “I don’t know, Russell. I thought it was because I liked your—your pep and wanted to help you out. But I’m not sure that it isn’t really because I want a lark!”

“Well, it’s mighty decent of you, anyway,” replied Russell. “It gets me out of a hole. You see, I like football, Austen, even if I’m not very much good at it, and it was sort of hard not to play this fall. Still, I wouldn’t have thought of doing it if Gaston hadn’t got after me. Now I’m wondering whether I’m going to play because I think it’s my duty to or just because I really want to!”

“Jove,” said Jimmy, “you’ve got a regular Puritan conscience, Emerson! What’s it matter? The main thing is that you’re going to. Now sit down and tell me about things at the store. You give a discount to our chaps, don’t you? Well, how about high school students?”

“Just the same,” said Russell. “I thought we’d better. They might get sore if we didn’t.”

“I see. Still, I don’t believe Crocker does.”

“All the more reason why we should, then, Austen.”

“Yes, but— Say, cut out that ‘Austen’ stuff, won’t you? My name’s Jimmy.”

“And mine’s Russell,” replied the other, smiling. “More often just Rus.”

“I get you! Though, of course,” Jimmy added, “when I am on duty I shall call you Mr. Emerson!”

Half an hour later Jimmy paused at the door to say: “Oh, by the way, about to-morrow night.”

“That’s all right,” replied Russell quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Eh? What doesn’t matter?” asked Jimmy, puzzled.

“Why, I mean,” floundered Russell, “if it isn’t convenient—”

“Rot! What I was about to say was that I think it’ll be best not to be too raw, if you see what I mean. We’ll use tact and diplomacy, old son. You just happen in and we’ll have a social little talk, the lot of us, and after awhile I’ll accidentally bring up the subject of the store. You leave it to me. Better not let those guys suspect that we’re putting up a game on ’em, eh? Well, so long, Rus. Drop in about seven-thirty or a quarter to eight.”

Stick, when he returned to the room later, was in a much better humor than when he had left. He had, it developed, won two straight games of billiards from another chap over in Haylow. Russell listened with flattering attention to Stick’s dramatic narrative of the contests, thereby increasing the latter’s content. At last, Stick tore himself from the engrossing subject, frowned slightly and asked: “Well, did you and Austen fix it up?”

Russell explained the arrangements. “That’ll give you every morning free except Saturday, Stick. Saturday Austen won’t be able to be there, and I have a nine o’clock and an eleven. In the afternoons, except Tuesdays— Here, this is the schedule. I tend store every afternoon except Tuesday from one to three. You come on at three and stay until six. Or, five-thirty, if you like. I’ll be down every day right after practice and I ought to get there by half-past. How is that?”

“All right, I guess,” replied Stick slowly, looking over the schedule rather as though he suspected that something was being put over on him. “Of course, afternoon’s likely to be the busy part of the day, if things ever get busy, that is!”

“I know, but you won’t have so much to do that it’ll wear you out,” answered Russell.

“It doesn’t look like it,” agreed Stick plaintively. “Say, we’re going to lose our money as sure as shooting, Rus!”

“I don’t think so,” answered the other with more confidence than he felt. “We can’t lose it all, anyhow, Stick. We haven’t signed any lease and we can give up the place at a month’s notice. We can return most of our stock, too.”

“Yes, but we’ll be out two months’ rent at the very least, and we’ve sunk about a hundred in rent and advertising and dolling the place up. Pulsifer won’t allow us anything for the paint and varnish and work we put in there, I suppose.”

“No, we’re bound to lose something, of course, if we have to quit,” acknowledged Russell. “But I don’t believe we’ll have to, Stick. Something tells me that things are going to pick up pretty soon.”

“I wish something would tell me so,” said Stick mournfully. “I don’t mind saying, Rus, that I’m plaguey sorry I went into it!”

“Well, don’t let’s give up the ship yet,” replied the other patiently. “Toss me that Latin book over here, will you?”

“What I don’t see,” went on Stick, complying, “is what this fellow Austen gets out of it. I suppose he’s—well, square, eh?”

“Of course he is,” answered Russell indignantly.

“Well, don’t get waxy. How do I know? What’s he going to tend the store for without pay, then?”

“He’s not. He’s on salary.”

“What?” almost shrieked Stick. “You mean we’re going to pay him money?”

Russell nodded, enjoying Stick’s consternation.

“I won’t do it!” cried the other. “No, sir! Why, hang it, Rus, we can’t afford it!”

“Oh, yes, we can,” answered Russell soothingly. “It’s only ten cents a week!”

“Ten cents! Ten cents a—” Stick stared blankly. “Is he crazy? What’s he want ten cents for? Why doesn’t he do it for nothing?”

“Well, he told me that he wanted to be a wage-earner,” explained Russell gravely.

Stick viewed him suspiciously. “It’s mighty funny,” he grunted. “The whole business is mighty funny. You and Austen are up to something, I’ll bet. All right, but just let me tell you that I’m not paying out my money to him!”

“You don’t mind five cents a week, do you?” asked Russell, grinning.

“No, I’ll pay five cents, all right, but I won’t pay a penny more. I’ve lost enough already in the fool business!” And Stick pulled a book to him savagely and intimated that he was through with the subject.

Russell found not only the hockey and basket ball captains in Number 4 Lykes Hall the next evening, but Cal Grainger. These, with Stanley, Jimmy and Russell, quite filled the room. Afterwards, Russell learned from Jimmy that Cal’s appearance was unsolicited and unexpected. Jimmy managed to convey the impression that Russell was a frequent caller, and was aided in the mild deception by Stanley, who had been admitted to the conspiracy. Russell was aware of the slightly puzzled inspections of the others, but appeared not to be. Bob Coolidge, the hockey team captain, was a tall, slim-bodied senior with a nice smile and a queer way of stuttering when he got the least bit excited. Sid Greenwood was small in comparison, with sharp black eyes, rebellious dark hair and a quick manner of speech and movement. Russell knew them both by sight, just as he knew Cal Grainger, but had never been introduced to them before to-night. He found a seat on a corner of Stanley’s bed after the introductions had been performed and helped himself to the caramels that Stanley passed. The talk was concerned with the criminality of the Athletic Committee, and Coolidge stuttered amusingly as he thumped the edge of the window-seat.

“A l-lot of Miss N-N-Nancies,” he declared earnestly. “You’d think we were j-just kids, the way they c-c-coddle us! Gosh! Why, look at Kenly! They g-g-got a twelve-game sc-sc-sc-sc—”

“Schedule,” prompted Cal kindly.

“—Hedule,” went on Coolidge, batting his eyes wildly. “And all we c-c-can get is s-seven games, with a p-p-possibility of eight if we c-c-can p-p-persuade Oak Grove to play here! What kind of a sc-sc—”

“You can’t say it, Bob,” interposed Greenwood. “Don’t try. We know what you mean. Also, son, we agree with you that the committee is a bunch of old women and that Peghorn is the worst of the lot. I hope he gets his bonnet-strings all knotted up! You can’t—”

“Oh, Peg isn’t to blame,” said Jimmy. “He’s no worse than the rest. What we need here is a student council or something to talk turkey to those antediluvian birds. How many games do you fellows get away, Sid?”

“Four,” replied the basket ball leader scornfully.

“Well, that’s one more than we get,” said Jimmy.

“Sure, but it’s different—”

“Taking a football team around’s not at all the same,” broke in Cal. “You have to have thirty or more fellows and half a dozen coaches and trainers and nurses—”

“Quite different,” agreed Coolidge, eagerly. “We take ten or eleven f-f-fellows, and it d-d-doesn’t c-cost us anything to speak of, and we get home early—”

“Having lost the game,” interpolated Cal, unkindly.

“Sh-sh-shut up! S-s-same with the b-b-basket ball outfit, too. S-s-seven or eight men and n-no expense—”

Russell lost the rest, for just there, under cover of the conversation, Stanley addressed him. “I hear you’re on the second football team, Emerson,” he said.

“I’m going out to-morrow,” answered Russell.

“Yes, Jimmy was telling me. I guess Steve Gaston’s going to work up a rip-snorting outfit, if what I hear is right. Great fellow, Steve. Hard luck, his not being able to play this year. What’s your position?”

“I played end last year. Gaston wants me to try for it again.”

“How’s the store getting along? Doing pretty well?”