The first team worked its way slowly out of the Slough of Despond that week. Progress was not uninterrupted, to be sure, but it seemed certain enough. On Tuesday the first took slight revenge on the scrubs, but on Wednesday it slipped back a little, allowing the second to give a spirited imitation of its former high-handed methods. Thursday again saw the first team in the ascendancy and the scrubs got their first thorough licking in more than three weeks. Perhaps it needed just that to restore the first’s confidence, for thereafter, while the season lasted, it never again bowed to its friendly enemy. Russell saw hard work and took hard blows, but lived very fully those days and enjoyed life exceedingly. His comrade on his left, Wells, was wrought to new heights of eloquence daily, eloquence that, as his opponents gathered speed, failed more and more of effect. By the end of that week Wells had fairly exhausted his powers of sarcasm and vituperation and had subsided into an amazed silence that was almost pathetic to observe. He played on, but it was easily seen that his heart was not in it. Battle had lost its savor for the right tackle.

Coach Cade chose to devote Friday to smoothing off the angles in preparation for the Oak Grove Academy contest the next day, and hence the second, its season almost over, was released from work that day. Oak Grove was not ordinarily a hard proposition; had, in fact, been given the date for that reason; but, with the Kenly game a week later, the time had come for a dress rehearsal. Indeed that time, but for the slump, would have arrived a week before. Released from practice, Russell went to the Sign of the Football at three to relieve Stick. He found the latter busy and the counter fairly crowded with customers and friends. Russell had long since discovered that it took, on the average, two and a half boys to conduct a purchase; which is to say that a customer was usually accompanied by from two to three—sometimes four—companions whose duty it was to lend advice and counsel. Russell went to Stick’s aid and half an hour later the last purchaser had departed and the store was, for the moment, empty of all save the partners and the ever-present Mr. J. Warren Pulsifer. Stick, free to return to school, lingered, and Russell guessed that he had something on his mind. What it was developed after a few moments of desultory conversation.

“Say,” began Stick, “I suppose you don’t want to buy me out, Rus.”

Russell shook his head slowly. “No, Stick. That is, I’d be glad to do it, if you wanted me to, but I haven’t got enough money. If I took a hundred and twenty-five out of the business I’d be in a hole right off. There’s another month’s rent coming due pretty soon, and three bills that must be paid by the twentieth. Maybe after the first of the year, though, I could manage it. Still, I don’t see why you want to get out, Stick. Things are coming our way at last and we’re doing pretty well.”

Stick nodded gloomily. “I know,” he agreed, “but—but I’ve got another use for the money.” He avoided Russell’s gaze, however, and the latter surmised that the statement wasn’t exactly truthful. The true explanation was indicated by Stick’s next remark. “You think you’ve got Crocker beaten, Rus, but he’s going to get you yet.”

“I don’t believe so, Stick, honestly. I’m sorry you can’t get out if you want to, but I don’t believe you’ll lose anything by staying in.”

Stick looked unimpressed during the short silence that followed. At last: “Well, I’ve made up my mind,” he said a trifle defiantly. “I can’t afford to lose that money, Rus. Now, I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you until next Wednesday. Maybe you’ll change your mind. Maybe you can get the money somewhere?” Stick’s voice ended in a rising inflection.

Russell shook his head. “I can’t, Stick. But I don’t understand, I guess. Suppose I don’t change my mind by Wednesday. What do you intend to do?”

Stick hesitated. Then, “Sell out,” he answered challengingly.

Russell stared. “Sell out! But I tell you I can’t— Oh, I see! You mean to some one else.” Stick nodded. “I’m afraid you won’t find that very easy, Stick. Folks wouldn’t consider it a very enticing investment just now.” Russell smiled a little at his friend’s surprising ignorance, and Stick caught the smile and bristled.

“That’s all right,” he answered. “Don’t you worry. I’ve found some one who’ll buy me out to-day if I’ll sell. I just thought I ought to give you first chance.” Something in Russell’s expression caused him to add hastily: “I’ve got a right to sell, haven’t I?”

“Yes, I suppose you have,” replied Russell quietly. “At least, I guess the law would say so, but it seems to me that, in a partnership like this, selling out to a third person isn’t just fair, Stick.”

“Why isn’t it? I’ve offered to sell to you—”

“You know I can’t buy!”

“That’s not my fault! This thing isn’t going to make money: it’s going on the rocks just as soon as Crocker starts in to really fight you! I want to get out while there’s time, and I mean to. If you can’t buy my interest I’ve got a perfect right to sell it to some one else, and I’m going to.”

“Who is it, Stick?” asked Russell.

“Fellow named Throgmorton.”

“One of our fellows?”

“Sure.” Stick nodded vigorously. “He came to see me yesterday, and again to-day. He’s going to give me a hundred and fifty for my share in the business. I’ll sell to you for a hundred and twenty-five, just what I put in. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?”

Russell had to acknowledge that it was. “But why does Throgmorton want to buy you out?” he asked perplexedly.

Stick shrugged. Evidently that didn’t interest him. “He says the thing’s all right. I let him think so.”

“But how did he learn that you wanted to sell?”

“I guess he heard it somewhere,” answered the other evasively. “Maybe he didn’t know it. He didn’t say so. He just came to me and asked.”

Russell frowned. “Throgmorton,” he mused. “I don’t believe I know him. Did he say he knew me, Stick?”

“No, I don’t believe so. He’s all right, though. He’s a senior, Rus; a big, dark-looking fellow. You’ll know him when you see him. I guess he would make a good partner. He talks like he knew a good deal about business.”

“He understands, I suppose, that he isn’t buying an equal interest?”

“Oh, sure! He said you and he would get on all right. Said he had this money and wanted to make a little more, and thought this was a good way.” Stick laughed. “I let him keep right on thinking so.”

Russell shook his head. “I don’t understand it,” he murmured. “Fellows don’t usually have a hundred and fifty dollars lying around loose like that.”

“I don’t say he’s got it in his pocket,” replied Stick. “Maybe it’s in the bank. But I guess he can get hold of it all right. He talks straight, anyway.”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t do this,” said Russell pleadingly. “Honest, Stick, we’ll make this go if you’ll hold on. Why, we’ve got a lot of business in sight right now. We’ve got the hockey and basket ball teams, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we got the baseball team too. And then there’s that stuff for Mr. Kincaid. That’s almost certain. And next fall—”

But Stick was shaking his head stubbornly. “That’s all right, Rus. You believe all that, maybe, but I don’t. I’ve made up my mind. I’d rather sell out to you, even if I didn’t make anything, but if you can’t buy, why, I’m going to sell to Throgmorton. You’ve got until next Wednesday, anyway. I promised him I’d give him his answer then.”

“You can give him his answer to-morrow just as well,” said Russell sadly. “Waiting until Wednesday doesn’t help me any.”

“Well, I’d rather,” replied Stick. “I’d feel better about it. You—you think it over, Rus. Well, I’ll be getting back. I told Wallace I’d play him some tennis at four. So long!”

Russell didn’t have much time to reflect on this new and sudden turn of affairs until closing time, for as Stick went his way two high school fellows entered in search of gymnasium togs, and after that the store was never quite empty of customers.

Between him and Stick the matter was not again mentioned that evening, but after supper Russell made his way across to Lykes and found Jimmy and Stanley in Number 4. It wasn’t until Stanley took himself out after a while that Russell confided his perplexities, however. Jimmy took a philosophical view of the situation, although he did refer disparagingly to Stick as a “quitter.”

“I don’t know this Throgmorton chap,” he said, “but I’ve seen him about and he looks all right. I think Stan has met him. I believe he’s rather a shark for study and copped a scholarship last year. After all, he can’t trouble you much, can he? I mean, you’ve got the say about things.”

“Y-yes, of course,” Russell agreed hesitatingly.

“Besides,” went on the other cheeringly, “it ought to be a grand relief to get rid of that crÊpe-hanger. Patterson has a conniption fit every time you suggest buying another dollar’s worth of stock or paying a quarter to have the window cleaned. He can think up more reasons for not spending a dime than any fellow I ever saw! If this Throgmorton chap is willing to invest a hundred and fifty in the business he’s likely to want to see it succeed. Besides, he’s a senior and will have more time to put in at the store than Patterson has.”

“Stick’s a senior, too,” reminded Russell.

“I know, but he’s a regular crab when it comes to doing his share. Honest, Rus, I wouldn’t be surprised if this turned out to be a stroke of luck.”

“Well, maybe,” agreed Russell doubtfully. “I guess what worried me most was having some one I don’t know for a partner.”

“Why don’t you go and see him and have a talk?” asked Jimmy. “It wouldn’t take long to find out what he’s like.”

“I don’t believe I will,” answered the other slowly. “If I didn’t like him I couldn’t do anything about it. Stick’s set on going through with it. Gee, I wish I could buy him out myself!”

“Too bad you can’t,” said Jimmy sympathetically. “I suppose when Throgmorton takes hold I’ll get fired.”

“Not unless you want to be,” said Russell, smiling.

“Well, I guess there’s not much chance of promotion and I’d better give notice and look about for something else,” replied Jimmy, grinning. “I’ll help out awhile longer, though. I’ve really had rather a good time, Rus. I’m sort of sorry dad’s so—that is, I’d kind of like to keep a store of some sort. It’s fun, Rus.”

“You might buy Mr. J. Warren Pulsifer out,” suggested Russell with a smile. “I guess he’d be glad to sell to you!”

“Fine idea! Only, you see, he can’t sell.”

“Can’t sell? Why not?”

“Well, it’s quite a story, Rus. He confided it to me one morning almost with tears in his eyes. You see—”

“You mean to tell me that Mr. Pulsifer talked to you?”

“Of course! Why not? Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, he is inclined to be a bit taciturn, but he will talk if you prod him. We didn’t mix much at first, but I treated him kindly and now we’re quite thick. Funny old guy, but human underneath. You see, Rus, he’s a man with a secret sorrow.”

“What’s his sorrow?”

“Here’s the yarn. It seems that he had an aunt who ran a sort of a florist’s establishment in connection with her home. She was fond of flowers and started in selling them to the neighbors. Then other folks came—there wasn’t any other florist around then—and so she built a greenhouse and, first thing she knew, had quite a trade. That was quite a while back, though, before the town was as big as it is. Of course she had competition finally and her business sort of petered out. But she didn’t give up. Instead, she died. And when she died she left the place, quite a big piece of ground with a nice house on it, to J. Warren on condition that he continue the business.

“Well, J. Warren, according to what he didn’t say, was on his uppers about then. He had married and the old sock was full of nothing much but holes. He had some sort of a job with the railway, he said. So he moved to the auntcestral home—rather good, what?—and turned himself into a florist. But folks didn’t come that far any more, for there were other florists in town here, and pretty soon the business was on its last legs. J. Warren was willing enough to let it die, for, as he said, he hated messing around with flowers and didn’t know a—a sunflower from a violet when he started. But he had a feeling that he wasn’t carrying out the terms of the will, as the lawyer chaps say, without making another struggle. So he opened up this place, stopped raising flowers and bought them instead. By that time he had sold off three or four pieces of the land for house-lots and, I fancy, had plenty of money. This place has never paid. He’s lost money every year. He’d like nothing better than quit, but he’s got an enlarged conscience, you see, and there’s the will and dear old Auntie’s dying command! What he really wants to do is go home and shut himself up in a third-floor room and work on an invention of his; something to do with train signals, as near as I could make out.”

“Still, I don’t see why he can’t sell the business.”

“Conscience, dear boy. Auntie wanted him to continue the business. She didn’t say for how long, and there’s the joker. J. Warren dopes it out that just as long as there’s any business to continue it’s up to him to continue it. And he plays fair, too. He advertises and tries to keep the thing going. But he’s set himself a limit. When the losses reach a certain figure—he didn’t tell me what—he will consider that he’s done his duty and close up shop. I thought at first, when I saw him figuring and figuring there at that little desk of his, that he was worried about business and was trying to make out whether he could make ends meet. But he wasn’t, Rus. He was figuring how much longer he’d have to keep things going. Haven’t you ever noticed how he always frowns and looks dejected if some one comes and wants to buy anything? Sure! Every purchase sets him back just so much. Every time there’s a funeral he figures that the time when he can shut himself up in that third-floor room is delayed another two or three days. You ought to hear him talk about the doctors in this town! He says they’re a lot of ‘nincompoops’—whatever that is—and that the mortality here is disgraceful. And he’s as keen as anything for the bill in the legislature that makes Armistice Day a state holiday. J. Warren believes in holidays, lots of ’em. The more holidays the less business, and the less business the sooner the florist establishment of J. Warren Pulsifer gets its death blow and J. Warren grabs a screw-driver and a cold chisel and goes back to inventing!”

“Now,” said Russell, laughing, “I know why he was so funny about renting that half of the store to us. One moment he’d be all scowls and the next quite willing!”

“Of course! Auntie pulling one way and the third-floor room another! Well, you see why it isn’t possible for me to buy him out and become a florist.”

“Well, I’m glad he isn’t bothered about money,” said Russell. “I was afraid he was getting ready to jump in the river! He didn’t say how much longer he expected the business to last, did he?”

“N-no, but I rather gathered that, if all goes well—I should say badly—he will be free of it in about one more year.”

“Good,” laughed Russell. “Of course, I’m sorry that his business is doing so well, but I’d hate to have to look for new quarters this year. Maybe by next we’ll be ready to rent the whole building.”

“That’s so. You ought to. Say, Rus, I wouldn’t be surprised if you could supply the football team next fall. I was telling Tod Tenney about you and the shop the other day. Tod will be manager next year, you know. He was mighty interested and said he didn’t see why they couldn’t buy their stuff here as well as in New York. Of course, he didn’t make any promises, and, I suppose, he would have to consult others about it, but it looks promising.”

“That was mighty kind of you,” said Russell gratefully. “You’ve been awfully decent to me, Jimmy, lots of ways, and I want you to know—”

“Can it,” said Jimmy.