On Monday Cal mutinied. When the time came for football practice he was on his way through the park to West House. It was a dull, gloomy afternoon and the house was silent and lonesome. Resolutely he set his books out on the table and studied. It was hard work at first, but presently he got interested and long before the others returned he had prepared his lessons for the morrow. There was a general demand to know why he had not shown up at practice and Cal merely replied that he hadn’t felt like football today.

“Well, I don’t envy you explaining to Brooksie tomorrow,” said Sandy with some severity. “But that’s your affair.”

Cal didn’t exactly envy himself that task, but to be able that evening to sit at ease and read a bully story about hunting and trapping in Canada while Ned and all the others had to study almost made up for any trouble to come. It evidently didn’t occur to Ned that his roommate had studied in the afternoon and he shot many a puzzled look across the table but asked no questions. Affairs between them had by now progressed to a stage where they never spoke to each other unless a third person was present.

The notice board in School Building served as a sort of morning newspaper and few fellows went to class without pausing to read the messages scrawled there. The next morning Cal stopped as usual and found for the first time a message for him.

“Boland. Meet me after morning. Brooks.”

“I cal’late,” he mused as he tore the slip down and replaced the thumb-tack in the corner of the board, “that means trouble. But he can’t make me play football if I don’t want to!”

He awaited Brooks on the steps after school. The House captain came out with Will M’Crae, quarter-back on the House Team, but excused himself when he saw Cal.

“What was the matter yesterday, Boland?” he began with a frown. “Why didn’t you show up at practice?”

“I’ve decided not to play football,” answered Cal calmly.

Brooksie stared.

“You—you’ve what?” he demanded.

“I’ve decided not to play any more,” Cal repeated less assuredly.

“Oh, you have?” said the captain sarcastically. “Why?”

“Well, I don’t think I’m cut out for the game, for one thing. It’s pretty hard work, too.”

“Go ahead,” said Brooks, “you’re doing fine. What else?”

“I haven’t anything to wear.”

“They sell football togs in the village,” suggested the other with ominous calm.

“I can’t afford to get them.”

“You can’t? Why can’t you?”

“Because I haven’t the money.”

A couple of smaller boys had paused near-by and Brooks, seeing them, took Cal’s arm and drew him down the steps and a little way along the East House path.

“Look here, Boland, is that straight?” he asked. “Can’t you afford three or four dollars for football togs?”

“No, I can’t, Brooks. I oughtn’t to. I—we ain’t got much money, you see.” Brooks observed him, frowning intently. At last he concluded that Cal was speaking the truth and not merely exaggerating his poverty in order to escape practice.

“That’s different,” he said. “You come with me.”

Wondering what was going to befall him now, Cal accompanied the other across the bridge and along the path to East House. He had never been there before. East House was newer than West and larger. It accommodated fourteen fellows to West House’s eight. On the square porch Cal paused but Brooks beckoned him in and led the way up the stairs and into a nicely furnished room on the second floor. There were lots of pictures on the walls, a good deal of comfortable mission furniture with leather upholstery, and several Oriental rugs on the hardwood floor. Altogether the room was a revelation to Cal of what a school study might be if the occupant possessed both money and good taste.

“Sit down, won’t you?” said Brooks, pushing a deep-seated chair forward. Cal seated himself, placed his cloth cap over one knee and smoothed it down there, feeling somewhat embarrassed and ill at ease. Brooks went to a closet and in a moment was back with an armful of togs.

“Here you are,” he said, dumping the things in Cal’s lap. “Shirt, breeches and stockings. I haven’t any boots, but I guess you can use what you’ve got for awhile. These things aren’t new by any means, but I guess they’ll last the season out. You can get Mrs. Linn to patch that place in the jersey.”

“But—but I oughtn’t to take these,” stammered Cal.

“Yes, you ought. Now look here, Boland. I don’t want to be nasty, but honestly you haven’t any business to act like this. You’re a new boy, and I guess that explains it, though. At that, Boland, you’ve been here long enough to know things. Haven’t they told you that we don’t shirk duty here at Oak Park? I suppose it’s Sanderson that’s at fault; he’s a good deal of a duffer, to my mind. Tell him so if you want to. It’s a shame you West Housers haven’t got another chap for Leader over there.”

“Sandy’s all right,” said Cal with a scowl. Brooks smiled.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve got that far,” he said. “At least you’ve learned to stand up for your House. But hasn’t Sandy told you that every fellow is expected to take hold and work for his House? That with us it’s House first, School next and self nowhere?”

“Ned Brent said something like that,” answered Cal.

“Yes, Ned would. Why don’t you do as Ned does, then? You want House to win, don’t you?”

“Of course,” answered Cal indignantly.

“Well, why don’t you help us then instead of sulking? What if football practice is hard? I know it well enough. I’ve been all through the—the drudgery, just as you are going. It isn’t any harder for us than it is for Hall, though. It isn’t any harder for you than it is for any other new boy. And after you’ve learned you’ll get a whole lot of pleasure out of it.”

“But it don’t seem to me,” muttered Cal, “that I ever can learn. I cal’late I’m no good at football.”

“That’s none of your business,” said Frank Brooks sharply. “That’s my look-out. If I didn’t think you could be useful to the team do you suppose I’d waste my time on you for a minute?”

This hadn’t occurred to Cal and he digested it a moment. Then,

“You mean that you think I can learn to play the game?” he asked.

“I mean that I think you can be of use to the House Team. That’s enough. If you can be of use it’s your duty to work hard and forget yourself, Boland. Get that idea?”

“Yes.”

“All right.” Brooks observed him a moment. Then he smiled and thumped him on his back. “You’ll do, Boland. No more nonsense, though, if you please. See you this afternoon.”

Cal bundled the togs up.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said simply, “but—”

“But nothing,” laughed Brooks. “You do what you’re told to do as well as you know how and leave the ‘buts’ to me. Glad you came over, Boland. You’ll get on all right.”

“I don’t just like to take these things, though,” Cal objected.

“Piffle! They’re no use to me. Call it a loan if you like. You can hand them back after the season’s through—if there’s anything left of them! Good bye.”

So ended Cal’s mutiny.

Half-way through the park he stopped and examined the contents of the bundle. There was a very fair pair of khaki breeches, properly padded on hip and knee, a somewhat threadbare cherry-red jersey with a three-corner tear on one sleeve and what seemed to be a brand-new pair of red stockings. He felt very proud of these new possessions, very proud, too, that Brooks had assured him that in spite of his own misgivings he was really of some use to the team. He made up his mind to buckle down and do the best that was in him, even if, at the end, he was destined to be only an onlooker when the battles raged. And without intentional disrespect to Sandy, he heartily wished that Frank Brooks was leader at West House.

A fairly uneventful week followed. He neither heard nor saw anything more of Miss Molly Elizabeth Curtis and he and the rest of the House forgot their misgivings. They talked of her once or twice during the first few days and then, as she didn’t obtrude herself, thought no more about her. Football practice went on six days in the week. They were hard at signal work now, and Cal, playing tackle on the second eleven, had grown interested in his duties. The first game was only a week away and already the air was surcharged with excitement. House boys began to sport their cherry-red and Hall fellows their blue. Football became the subject for conversation at every meal and Mrs. Linn, as was her yearly custom, displayed a well-meaning but frightfully ignorant interest in the game. Lessons suffered proportionally as football fever increased and the instructors, notably Mr. Kendall, familiarly known as Grouch, railed and scolded. Only Mr. Fordyce, who taught English and physics, and who was called Fussy, took it philosophically, apparently realizing that in a month or so affairs would be back on their accustomed plane and no one the worse. For once Fussy belied his title. Mr. James, in whose room Cal had his desk, might have been expected to be more lenient with the fellows in their football madness than anyone else, since as physical instructor he had direct charge of the players. But Jim, as he was called, drew a hard and fast line between class-room and playground and so far as he was concerned athletic prowess was no excuse for lack of attention to studies. Several of the boys found this out during the last of October and the first of November, and it was a dull week indeed when someone was not absent from practice on either Hall or House field because Jim believed that a cessation of athletic industry would improve class standing.

At West House football put Ned’s misfortune out of everyone’s mind, excepting Ned’s and Cal’s. The mystery remained unexplained, but the generally accepted theory, introduced by Ned himself, was that the money had been mislaid and would sooner or later be discovered. Cal appreciated his room-mate’s generosity in seeking by every means to keep suspicion from him, but he hadn’t forgiven Ned for himself suspecting. The breach widened rather than lessened as the days went by, and Cal wasn’t very happy. Rooming with a chap to whom you have nothing to say and who has nothing to say to you is an uncomfortable business. Neither Ned nor Cal knowingly gave any evidence of the estrangement, but it didn’t take the other boys long to discover it. At another time it would have occasioned more interest; just now football was the only topic holding anyone’s attention.

On the Monday before the first game Frank Brooks finished his experiments and the First Team as it lined up that afternoon was the team that would face the Hall, barring accidents. West House had secured five places. Sandy was at left guard, Dutch at left tackle, Spud at left end, Ned at right half-back and The Fungus at left half-back. That left six places for East House. Brooks played right guard. The quarter-back was Will M’Crae and on him the Houses pinned much of their faith, for besides being a good general he was an exceptionally good punter. Hoop and Cal had drawn places amongst the substitutes, Hoop as a guard and Cal as a tackle. There had never been much sympathy between these two, for Hoop had a passion for saying mean things without really wanting to hurt, and Cal had not forgotten the incident attending his arrival at West House when Hoop had tripped him up on the steps. Dutch and Hoop got along splendidly together as room-mates, for Dutch was good-natured to a degree and paid very little attention to his chum’s gibes. Most anyone could have got on with Dutch Zoller. Being together in the substitute ranks, however, brought Cal and Hoop together a good deal and Cal soon got to liking the other very well and it wasn’t long before he had ceased entertaining any animosity toward Hoop for the little incident on the steps. They walked back to West House together that Monday afternoon after practice was over and discussed their chances of getting into the first game. By this time Cal had cultivated quite a keen interest in football and no one worked harder or took his knocks more cheerfully.

“You’re likely to get in before I do,” said Hoop. “Brooks is bound to play every game through, while as for Sandy, although Truesdale will play all around him, he’s no quitter. But Griffin at right guard gets hurt easily. When you do get in it will be to replace him, Cal. Dutch doesn’t know how to get hurt, so you needn’t look for his place.”

“I suppose we’re bound to get into one of the games, aren’t we?” Cal asked.

“Sure. We may get into them all for awhile. You can’t tell. Brooks might lay off part of Saturday’s game so as to save himself up; he would if the game went our way, I guess. Then I’d get my whack at it. I’m crazy to get up against that duffer Williams of the Hall. He always plays high and I’ll bet I can get right through him.”

“I cal’late I’d be kind of scared if they did put me in,” said Cal.

“Rot! You wouldn’t either! You’d forget all about being scared after the first play. When the other chap is trying to pull you on your nose or walk up your spine you haven’t time to think whether you’re scared or not. Gee, I’ll be sorry when the season’s over!”

“What do they do here in winter, Hoop?”

“Oh, play hockey a good deal. We had a fine team last winter. I don’t play myself; can’t skate worth a hang; never seemed to be able to learn how. Do you?”

“Yes, I learned when I was about eight, I guess. I’ve never played hockey, though. Is it hard?”

“Yes, it is. We play basket-ball, too. That’s good fun. West House won the School Championship last year; beat East House and First and Second Hall. I played.”

“No wonder you won, then,” laughed Cal. Hoop grinned.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said. “Sandy’s the bang-up basket-ball player. He’s a dandy center. And Ned’s a cracker-jack, too. I guess you could make good at that if you went in for it, Cal.”

“I’d like to try. I’ve seen them play it at home.”

“It’s a lot of fun. Hello!”

They had walked over in advance of the others and now, as they turned the corner of the house, Hoop stopped still and stared. On the top step sat a girl with a brand-new tennis racket in her hands!

“Is that her?” growled Hoop in a whisper.

“Yes,” answered Cal, “and it looks as though she’d come to play tennis, Hoop.” He grinned. “Maybe you can beg off, though; tell her you’re too tired and—”

But Hoop had fled back around the corner. Cal meditated following him, but at that moment Molly turned her head and saw him.

“How do you do?” she called. “I’ve been waiting here the longest time!”