For a week life progressed quickly and busily for Hansel. His mornings were fully occupied in the class rooms, and at three o’clock each afternoon he was on the green dressed in football togs ready for the practice. He was at right end now, having displaced King of last year’s second, and there was little doubt in the minds of the other players and Mr. Ames that he would be able to hold the position against all comers. His playing was a revelation to many of the candidates. There was not a faster, harder runner on the team, and none could equal him at tackling. And with these physical abilities went a mental alertness, coolness, and judgment that enhanced and perfected them. Mr. Ames struck right end from the list of positions to be filled and turned his attention to other points in the line.

Back of Hansel played Cotton at quarter, Curtis at left half, Cameron at right half (the Three C’s they were called), and Bert Middleton at full back. At center was big Royle. But the rest of the positions, excepting right end, were still filled only tentatively, and every day the linemen were shifted or dropped out to make room for promising candidates from the second squad.

Naturally, Hansel soon made the speaking acquaintance of Billy Cameron; and he found himself at a loss to understand that youth. Hansel made the mistake of imagining that a fellow occupying such an equivocal position in the school must necessarily exhibit signs of depravity or meanness. And a more harmless, better-natured youth than Cameron it would have been hard to find. He was popularly believed to be twenty years of age, and looked it. He was rather heavy of build, but wonderfully quick on his feet, and was an ideal plunging half back. He had tow-colored hair and twinkling blue eyes and was rather handsome. He was good-natured to a fault, had good manners, which seemed to have been acquired rather than inherited, and had never been known to indulge in dirty playing. And Hansel never heard a foul word pass his lips. The former, after a week’s acquaintance with Cameron, discovered that he would have to revise his preconceived ideas of that youth. He even found himself entertaining a mild liking for him, and, since his notions of right and wrong were pretty sharply defined, it worried him not a little. And he began to wonder what was to become of Cameron if he succeeded, as he had determined to, in setting school sentiment against that youth.

During that week Hansel realized that, in spite of his expressed confidence in his ability to bring about reform, he had a difficult task ahead of him. He had not spoken as yet to Mr. Ames on the subject—he was purposely putting that off until later—but the one or two fellows to whom he had mentioned the matter, had disappointed him. Folsom, for instance, of whom Hansel had expected sympathy at least, if not actual assistance, had only laughed good-naturedly.

“It isn’t quite right, of course,” said Harry, “but then it’s done all over the shop. Even the faculties wink at it, and in some schools they lend a hand. If you’re going to change things, Dana, you’ll have to begin at the bottom.”

“Where’s that?” asked Hansel.

“At the top,” answered Harry with a laugh. “I mean the colleges. You see, we school fellows take our cues from the colleges. And when they hire athletes we think we can do the same thing.”

“But do they—here in the East? I thought——”

“Yes, they do; that is, lots of ’em do. It’s usually done on the sly, but we knew of it. Why, thunderation! don’t they come here every year to get our best men and offer ’em all sorts of easy snaps if they’ll go with ’em to—well, any of the colleges, pretty near! What’s Perkins doing at —— this year? Steward of an eating club with a salary that’s big enough to pay all his expenses and let him run an automobile! And Perkins’s dad is a carpenter over in Whitby; never saw a fifty-dollar bill in his life, I’ll bet! It isn’t right, as you say, Dana, but—what can you do?”

“I don’t know yet,” answered Hansel, “but I can do something. And if you won’t help——”

“Oh, I haven’t said that,” replied Harry easily. “You find your method, you know, and maybe I’ll take a hand. Only,” with a meaning laugh, “don’t get too near home, Dana.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I’m manager of the team this year and I want to win. So don’t meddle with any of my men; see?”

“Yes,” answered Hansel thoughtfully, “I see. Only—I may have to.”

Harry laughed good-naturedly and clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’ll risk it, I guess. You mean well, Dana, and I—well, I hope you succeed—next year. Come around and see me.”

Anderson, captain of the baseball team, to whom Hansel sought and obtained an introduction, told him he was wasting his time, and refused to lend even moral assistance. Field, president of the fourth class, looked bored, and said it was a good work and he hoped Hansel would succeed, but—er—it was a difficult undertaking; “Every fellow doesn’t look at the matter in the same light, you know, and—er—well, come around again and let me know how you get along.”

To add to the difficulties, Hansel was practically an outsider. While he was a member of the third class, yet he knew scarcely six men in it. The other members had been together for two years and had formed their groups and coteries long since, and to gain admittance to these was likely to prove no easy task. Had Hansel come up to Beechcroft from some nearby school it would have been different; he would scarcely have failed to find others who had attended the same institution and who would have taken him up and, possibly, secured him admission into their clubs. But no one at Beechcroft had ever so much as heard of the little academy out in Ohio from which Hansel had migrated, and so there were no outstretched hands to welcome him into the inner circles of class life. At the end of his second week at Beechcroft Hansel was well acquainted with Bert and Harry, knew most of the members of the first squad well enough to talk to, and had a nodding acquaintance with some or six other chaps. Of course he had no intention of allowing such a state of affairs to continue for long, and he had a shrewd idea that after the first one or two games, by which time he would have become identified as one of the school eleven, he would find it fairly easy to make acquaintances. But meanwhile he felt rather outside of things and, had he had time, would probably have experienced qualms of homesickness. He wrote more letters to Davis City, Ohio, during that fortnight than during any subsequent period of like length, and his mother’s replies, full of the trivial but vastly interesting happenings of the little town, were happy events. The first offer of assistance, in what Harry jocularly called his “crusade against vice,” came finally from an unexpected quarter.

Harry’s invitations to visit him were frequent, but so far Hansel had not entered the study in Weeks Hall since the evening of his arrival. And so, on the afternoon preceding the first football game, when the practice was light and over early, he accepted the invitation. He had not yet abandoned hope of winning Harry over to active membership in the “crusade”; and, besides, he liked the football manager better than any of his few acquaintances. Harry roomed alone in a suite of study and bedroom on the second floor of Prince. The study was plainly but richly furnished and was a revelation to Hansel. The walls were covered with dark-green cartridge paper, against which hung a scant half-dozen good pictures. Over each door was a shelf holding a cast. The floor was painted and bare save for a few rugs in quiet tones of olive and gray and dull red. A handsome mahogany study table took up the center of the apartment and a few easy chairs with good lines stood about. These, with a comfortable divan, heaped with pillows, practically comprised the furnishings of a room which was at once simple and in good taste. Harry was at work at the table when Hansel entered.

“Busy?” asked the latter. “I just came in to chin a bit, and so if——”

“Busy? Not at all; merely studying,” was the reply. “It isn’t often any fellow has the decency to come in and interrupt me when I’m studying. First thing I know I’ll have brain fever! Sit down and rest your face and hands.” He pushed his books and paper aside, laid down his pen, and leaned back in his chair. “How’s the crusade coming on?”

“I’m afraid it’s at a standstill at present,” answered Hansel with a smile. “The fact is, I’m still recruiting.”

“Like Falstaff,” suggested Harry. “How many have you got?”

“Only you so far.”

“Me? No, you don’t! I refuse to be drafted. I—I’ve water on the brain and can’t fight. Scratch me off, if you please, general.”

“All right, but I’ll get you yet,” said Hansel cheerfully. Harry looked across at him thoughtfully. Then:

“Hanged if I don’t believe you will, confound you!” he answered. Then he laughed. “Why don’t you give it up until next year, Dana?” he asked.

“So as not to interfere with Cameron?”

“No, honestly I wasn’t thinking of him. But look here, old fellow, to speak plainly now, if you go ahead with it, the first thing you know they’ll set you down as a crank and—and that isn’t pleasant in a school like this. Give a fellow a name for—for peculiarity here and it’s all up with him.”

“All up with him how?”

“Well, in a social sense, I mean. The fellows fight shy of you and you get left out of things, societies and offices, you know. I don’t want to seem cheeky, Dana, but really there’s a good deal in what I say. And—and you’re the sort of a chap that can have a pretty good time here and do a whole lot if—if you don’t get—peculiar.”

“I dare say you’re right, Folsom——”

“Cut it out; no one ever calls me that.”

“All right, then I won’t either. I’ve been thinking myself that very likely the fellows would put me down for several kinds of a crank, but—really, I don’t know why I should feel so—so strongly about this thing; but I do; and there you are. And I guess if I am in for getting a reputation for peculiarity, as you call it, why, I’m in for it, that’s all. Anyhow, I haven’t any idea of backing down.”

“No, I didn’t suppose you had,” said Harry with conviction. “I only thought it was my duty in a way to—er—mention the matter to you.”

“I’m much obliged. And, to prove it, there’s a captaincy awaiting you whenever you are ready to join.”

“Confound you,” laughed Harry, “you’re a regular—what-you-call-it—proselytist!”

“It’s an awful sounding word,” said Hansel, “and I don’t quite know what——”

There was a knock on the door, and, at Harry’s command to enter, there appeared a youth at whom Hansel gazed with interest. He was apparently of about Hansel’s age, but slighter, with a thin, pinched nose, a straight, serious, and determined mouth, too large for symmetry, rather long and very dark-brown hair, which needed trimming, and a pale face from which a pair of keen, attractive hazel eyes smiled across at Harry. He was far from handsome, but there was, nevertheless, that about him, an expression of kindliness and honesty, an atmosphere of purposeful courage and manliness that had made him one of the best-liked fellows in school. His clothes were neat but the worse for wear. The straw hat which he held had evidently seen more than one summer, his shoes were patched from heel to toe, and the very low collar, encompassed by a wispy black silk tie, threadworn and long since out of date, emphasized the length and thinness of his neck. Hansel’s first conclusion was that the fellow needed a square meal, the next that he needed several.

“Hello, Phin!” cried Harry heartily. “I’m mighty glad to see you. Where have you kept yourself since school began? By the way, you fellows haven’t met, have you? Phin, this is Mr. Dana; Mr. Dorr—Mr. Dana. Dana’s in your class, Phin; just entered. I want you to do what you can to get him into the crowd; will you?”

“I shall be very pleased to,” said Phineas Dorr, as he shook hands with Hansel, “though I don’t suppose there’s much I can do.” He had a rather deep voice which scarcely seemed to belong to such a thin body, but there was a quality to it which attracted Hansel just as it did everyone else. The three sat down, and Harry repeated his question.

“Where have you kept yourself? Why haven’t you been around?”

“Well, I’ve been rather busy, Harry. I’m boarding at a new place this year, and there was a good deal to do about the house.”

“I see. Where are you?”

“At Mrs. Freer’s, near the Congregational church.”

“Freer’s? I thought I knew them all, but——”

“She’s a newcomer; just moved in a couple of weeks ago. The fact is, she’s from Lowell, where I live, you know; she’s a friend of ours, sort of a—a relative, you know.”

“Oh, and you’ve been helping her fix up, eh? Putting down her carpets for her, running errands, and everything else, I suppose. You’re too blamed good-natured, Phin.”

“Well, she’s a relative and so, of course, I’ve had to help, Harry. She’s—she’s very kind.”

“Like all of ’em, I guess; gives you a hole under the eaves and soaks you three dollars for it!”

“No, I’ve got a very comfortable room this year; much better than the one I had at Morton’s.”

“Well, I should hope so! That was the limit!”

“I didn’t pay much.”

“You shouldn’t have paid anything,” said Harry grimly. “Mrs. Morton ought to have paid you. Well, I’m glad you came around; glad to see you back again. You know you said last year you weren’t certain of getting back.”

“I know; there was some doubt about it, but I managed it—so far. That reminds me of what I came to see you about.”

“You’re a mean dub, Phin,” said Harry sadly. “I thought you came because you wanted to see me again.”

“So I did, as you know,” said the other with one of the infrequent smiles which made his thin face almost good-looking. “But there was business, too, in it. You see, Harry, I’m under rather more expense this year, and I’m trying to find a little work to help out. I’ve got a few furnaces in the village, but I need more.”

“My dear chap, I don’t own a furnace,” laughed Harry kindly. “You can search me!”

“I know,” answered Phin, echoing Hansel’s laugh. “What I want is to do any odd jobs you may have.”

“Odd jobs? For the love of Mike! what sort of odd jobs, you crazy duffer?”

“Well, carpentering and things like that. You know I’m pretty handy with tools. If you want any shelves put up or things like that, I can do them a good deal cheaper than the town carpenter will.”

“Oh!” Harry looked thoughtfully about the apartment. “Well, I don’t see anything right now, Phin, but if I ever want any tinkering you may be sure I’ll send for you.”

“Thanks.” Phin looked across at Hansel. “And I’d be glad if you would let me do anything of the sort for you, Mr. Dana,” he added.

“Surely,” said Hansel. “Glad to have you.”

“Hold on, man! You’re not going?” asked Harry.

“I must,” replied Phin, who had arisen and was moving toward the door. “I’m soliciting trade, you see, and I’ve got a good many fellows to look up yet. I’ll come around some other day and see you, Harry. Very glad to have met you, Mr. Dana. I shall be around to see you in a day or so, if I may? Thank you. I know several fellows I think you would like to meet and who will be very glad to meet you. By the way, Harry, there’s another thing.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “You don’t happen to know of any fellow who is looking for a nice room without board in the village, do you?”

Harry shook his head.

“If you do, just mention Mrs. Freer’s to him, will you? She’s got a very comfortable downstairs room which she will rent very cheap. Good-by; see you both again.”

And Mr. Phineas Dorr passed out.

Hansel looked across at Harry inquiringly.

“Poor old Phin,” muttered Harry, smiling and shaking his head.

“Why?” asked Hansel. “What’s the matter with him?”

“Nothing, except that he’s as poor as a church mouse. I don’t believe he’s seen a beefsteak near to in his life. He looked bad enough last year, but this year he’s thinner than ever.”

“Who is he? Tell me about him.”

“Well, he’s Phin Dorr, Phineas Dorr, though no one ever calls him that. He comes from Lowell, and is working his way through; looks after furnaces, cuts grass, mends everything he can find to mend, and, in winter, shovels snow. He’s a wonder as a Jack-of-all-trades, is Phin. He entered last year. He’s in your class. He managed to get a scholarship last year, and I guess he’ll get another this year; if he don’t, I fancy he’ll be up against it pretty hard. Every fellow knows Phin—and likes him; in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had more influence than any chap here. He’s one of the best fellows ever made.”

“Has he folks?”

“A mother only; poor as poor, they say. His father had money once, I heard, and lost it. He’s dead now. I shall have to fake up something for him to do for me, though goodness knows I don’t need any shelves.”

“I do,” said Hansel. “I want a big, long one.”

Harry observed him smilingly.

“Well, don’t let him suspect you are doing it for charity, old man; Phin won’t stand for that. Besides, I thought—” He paused in some embarrassment.

“Thought I was poor, too, you mean? So I am, but he’s a heap sight poorer. And—and I like him.”

“Every fellow does. Phin, in spite of his old patched clothes, is one of the best things we have here. And, by the way, Hansel, you tell Phin about the crusade. He’s sort of peculiar himself.”

“I will,” said Hansel.