On Tuesday all but one of the Alton football squad reported for practice, the exception being Greenough, a substitute end, who had sustained a badly wrenched ankle in the Southport game. To be exact, there were twenty-nine khaki-trousered youths on hand when three o’clock struck. Of this number, nineteen were linemen, one of them a second team fellow named Cooper who had that day been snatched to the first as a substitute guard, that Fillmore might go to the backfield to understudy Tennyson. To-day new emphasis was laid on throwing and catching, end, tackle and backfield candidates to the number of seventeen being put through a long drill. Subsequently, during signal work, forward passes were more frequent than usual. Jim’s knee bothered him at first, but he speedily forgot about it, and when the afternoon’s session was at an end it seemed just as good as ever. The second was cocky that day and twice held the first inside her five-yard line, and, since Coach Cade had ruled out field-goals, there was no scoring until, just before the end of the second period—two halves of fifteen minutes constituted the practice game—Plant, at right half for Billy Frost, got away on his own twenty-four and raced some seventy-six yards for a touch-down.

Jim played through all of the last half and pleased himself thoroughly. Those second-team fellows weren’t so hard to handle to-day. He had three men opposed to him while he was in and none outplayed him in his opinion. To be sure, no one stopped proceedings to tell him he was doing well, but Jim had learned that praise, even commendation, was dealt out sparingly, and that so long as a player got along without being scolded it could be assumed that he was performing very creditably. Although he had been at training table but two days he found things not a little different on the field. He was no more a part of the squad than before, but it seemed that being taken to the table had served as an initiation that had admitted him to an inner sanctuary. Fellows who had never recognized him three days ago now hailed him as “Slim”—possibly without always knowing his last name—quite in the off-hand manner of age-old acquaintances. At first it embarrassed him greatly, but he liked it even then. He felt of importance for the first time since he had begun to play. He was, at last, somebody in the football world of Alton! Before, he had thought of himself as being there on sufferance; now he belonged. The sense of camaraderie helped a lot, too. Somehow, now when Pep Kinsey or Latham or Barnhart, playing quarter, yelped at him for playing too far in or too far out or, as once happened, starting before the signal, he didn’t take it to heart. The quarter was just one of his own crowd!

It was still light when Jim got back to Haylow that afternoon, and Clem was sprawled on the window-seat, reading, his book held close to the pane. “There’s been a gentleman here to see you, Jim,” he announced. There was faint emphasis on the word “gentleman,” and Jim’s brows contracted as he turned to the closet to hang up his cap. “Said he’d be back again.”

“What did he look like?” asked Jim soberly.

“Well, to tell you the truth, old son, he looked rather seedy. Slight chap, about twenty-four, perhaps. In case he’s a particular friend of yours, I won’t be too detailed.” Clem grinned. “Anyhow, he’s coming back, and if I were you, Jim, I’d pay the bill.”

“What bill?”

“How do I know?” chuckled Clem. “Perhaps the bill you owe his poor old widowed mother for the washing. He struck me as the sort of guy who’d be likely to land you one on the nose if you didn’t settle prompt. How did football go?”

“All right.” Jim seemed rather thoughtful. Instead of sitting down he walked twice between the window and the door, his hands in his pockets. Then, “All right,” he said again.

“Still all right, eh?” asked Clem. “That’s fine. When a thing’s all right I do love to have it stay that way.” Jim looked at him in puzzlement. “If it happened to change, you’d let me know, wouldn’t you?” pursued Clem anxiously.

“What are you talking about?” asked Jim, frowning perplexedly. But he didn’t hear Clem’s reply, for just then the sound of footsteps in the corridor caused him to swing expectantly toward the door. But the steps went by. Clem was still talking.

“If it’s anything serious, I’ll be glad to help any way I can. You know that, Jim. I haven’t much influence with the police, but what I have will be gladly exerted in your behalf. Perhaps a confession would ease your mind, old son. Where and when did the crime take place, and what motive induced you to kill the beautiful girl?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” protested Jim worriedly. “You asked about practice and I told you—”

“‘All right.’ Quite so. But if ever a fellow had guilt written all over his phiz, you’re the fellow, Jim. You’ll have to do better than that when you face the jury!”

Jim managed a laugh. “Oh, I thought you were talking serious about something.” He sat down then, but he didn’t relax as he might have been expected to after as strenuous an afternoon’s work as he had put in. It became apparent to Clem that he was really uneasy, and probably about the visitor.

“If you’d rather not see that chap when he returns,” said Clem carelessly after a moment’s silence, “if he does return, I’ll send him away. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was just some one trying to sell books or something, you know.”

“Yes,” replied Jim vaguely. “Thanks.” After a pause he added: “Guess I’d better see him, though.”

“Have your own way, but you won’t be seeing much. He struck me as—”

But at that instant there was a knock on the door, a knock that had been preceded by no warning footfalls outside. “That’s probably he now,” said Clem. “Want me to—”

But Jim had sprung up and was already at the door. He opened it no more than a foot, and from where Clem sat the visitor was invisible. “Hello,” said Jim. There was no pleasure in his voice, and Clem smiled even as his curiosity increased. There was a subdued response from beyond the portal which Clem couldn’t catch, and then: “But I asked you not to,” said Jim accusingly. “You ought to do like—” Then Jim slipped through into the corridor and the door closed tightly behind him.

Clem pursed his lips and shook his head. “Now what the dickens?” he asked himself. “Mystery, by gum! Conspiracy even! And old Jim acting like the villain in ‘A Guilty Secret’! What do you know? Gosh, you never can tell about these innocent-looking chaps. Wonder what that cheap skate wants with Jim.” No sound came from the corridor. Probably the two had moved away from the door. Some five minutes passed, and Clem, staring into the darkening world, was watching the campus lights come on one by one and had forgotten Jim and his mysterious caller when the door opened once more.

Jim came in alone, thrusting the door back behind him. Clem said: “You might switch on the light if you don’t mind, Jim.” Jim did so, and the yellow radiance that still showed through the crack of the door and proclaimed the corridor lights going, paled. “Well,” continued Clem gayly, “did you have to pay him hush-money?” Then he saw Jim’s troubled and embarrassed countenance and the raillery died out of his voice, “What’s up?” he asked.

“Clem, I hate to ask you, but I—” Jim stopped, gulped and went on. “Can you lend me five dollars, Clem?”

“Great Scott! Is that all it is?” Clem laughed with relief as he jumped up. “I thought murder had been done and you wanted me to help conceal the body! Five dollars? Ten if you want it, old son. I happen to be in funds just now.”

“Five will be plenty,” said Jim in a subdued tone. “I’ll give it back to you just as soon as I can, but maybe it won’t be this week, because—”

“There’s no hurry at all, Jim, so don’t be so down-hearted.” He opened a drawer in his chiffonier, found a bunch of keys and then went to his closet. “We will now open the strong-box,” he continued as he pulled a black leather suit-case from the shelf. “Say, I hope you aren’t being blackmailed, old son,” he added, chuckling.

From the suit-case, which apparently held only a discarded shirt and two ancient tennis balls, he magically produced a folded envelope. This he took to the table and opened. From it came several bills and four gold coins. “You may have gold if you’d rather,” he laughed. “That’s Christmas money from last year and the year before. I’ve got an uncle who always comes across with two of those, and somehow they never get spent. I meant to put them in the bank before I came back, but forgot it and I found them in my trunk when I landed. Here you are, old son. Sure five’s enough? Here’s two more if you say the word; or you can have one of these lovely gold coins.”

“This is plenty,” said Jim earnestly, his voice low. “Thanks, Clem. It’s mighty good of you.” He disappeared once more and again the door closed tightly behind him. Clem stared in a puzzled way, then shrugged his shoulders, returned the four gold pieces and two crumpled dollar bills to the old envelope and tossed the latter back into the bag. Then he turned the key, placed the suit-case back on the shelf and dropped the key-ring into the drawer in the chiffonier. When he had rescued his book from the window-seat and pulled the curtains across the casements, Jim had returned to the room. He had paused inside the door, his back against it, and was staring thoughtfully at the floor. Then, before Clem thought of anything to say, he roused himself and came to the table.

“I guess you’re wondering about—about that fellow,” he said slowly, “and me lending him money.”

“Well, curiosity won’t hurt me,” answered Clem cheerfully. “It’s no affair of mine, Jim, and you don’t owe any explanations.”

“He’s a fellow I used to know pretty well,” Jim went on. “He—we used to live close together and he was always mighty good to me when I was a little codger. He’s been having trouble lately; out of work and the like of that, Clem; and he’s sort of lost hold, I guess. I ran across him yesterday afternoon on State street. He was looking for me to get a little money to carry him along. I gave him three dollars and a half. That’s all I had. That’s why I had to ask you for that five dollars just now.”

“I see. But that chap doesn’t expect you to lend him money right along, I hope. Eight dollars in two days is fairly steep, isn’t it?”

Jim nodded. “He said yesterday he was going to Norwalk. Said he had a job promised him there. But it seems he didn’t have enough money left this morning for his ticket. So he wanted me to lend him some more.”

“Well, that’s all right,” said Clem. “Let’s hope he gets his job. To speak right out in meeting, Jim, I didn’t like his looks much, and his hands didn’t seem to me to show many signs of hard and honest labor. Also, if you’ll pardon me for seeming disrespect to a friend of yours—or, let us say, acquaintance—I thought I detected an aroma about him that—well, it wasn’t exactly the odor of sanctity, Jim.”

“Yes, I noticed it, too,” replied Jim sadly. “I guess he’s been sort of up against things and—and discouraged, Clem. He’s had no job for more than a month, he says. But I made him promise me he’d behave if I let him have that five. And I guess he will. He used to be such a nice fellow, Clem!”

“Too bad,” said Clem sympathetically. “Lost his grip, I suppose. Well, maybe he’ll land on his feet again. I dare say it’s not any too easy to keep straight, Jim, when you’re on your uppers. Don’t you think of paying back that five, old son, until you get it back from that fellow, no matter if it’s ten years from now. I don’t need it.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather pay it as soon as I get my allowance,” Jim protested. “That’ll be about ten days from now.”

“You’re a stubborn old Maineiac,” said Clem sadly, “but have your own way about it. Meanwhile, has it occurred to you that the time is twelve minutes past six and that if we want food we’d better get a move on us? Of course, you, being on the training table, don’t need to worry so much, but where I battle for sustenance it’s a case of first come, first get it! And,” added Clem, waving a towel as he made for the door, “there are those at my table who have no conscience at all where another man’s butter is concerned!”