When Frank and the Wee One knocked on Dixon's door that night in the second entry, first floor of Russell Hall, it must be confessed that they were not as brave as they had felt themselves to be earlier in the evening when the plan of campaign had been decided. Frank felt that he had been at Queen's too short a time to be taking the high hand with the quarterback of the eleven, and he was uncertain as to how it would affect his standing in the school.

"I tell you, Willie, I wish there was some other way to get at this," Frank said as they cut across the broad walk under the elms.

"Have you some other plan under your bonnet?"

"No, that's the worst of it. I don't like the idea of being put in the position of forcing Jimmy on the eleven."

"Oh, what are you sticking at? If you don't do it the force will be on Jimmy to keep him off. It may be too late even now, for Jimmy had his chance, and to most of those who saw the game the indications were that he is not to be trusted with the ball in a tight place. We know better because we were suspicious of Chip and had a guess as to what he might be up to."

"All right," said Frank, "but just the same I wish we could get at it in a different way. Probably all on account of me, Jimmy will now get in bad with the Gamma crowd. I wish I hadn't come to school at all."

"Oh, come, if you are getting chills in your pedal extremities we will go back and put you to bed and warm you up with a hot water bottle. But if you are looking for victory, as Napoleon said, 'follow me into the breach.'"

"Don't you worry about my feet, Wee One, they're all right. I was thinking of Jimmy only; I want to help him, not hurt him."

By the time the boys had finished their discussion they had reached the entry.

"Do you know his room?" inquired Frank.

"Yes, second floor right," said the Wee One as he began to climb. "Rooms with Hillard, as you probably know. Hope Hillard isn't in. If he is it will make it harder to get to the subject, because Hillard would be displaced by Jimmy if he were found good enough to make the team. Here we are."

The Wee One's sturdy knock drew a loud response from within: "Come in." It was Chip's voice, and the tone did not sound pleasant.

Patterson pushed open the door and stalked into the room, as brave as a lion. Frank followed on his heels.

"Came to see you on a little business, Dixon," volunteered the Wee One, as he took a seat over by the fireplace.

"Indeed! You came at a bad time. I'm trying to get back work done."

"Sorry we disturb you, but it's important. This is my friend, Frank Armstrong."

Chip nodded curtly. "Yes, I've seen him before. He hasn't been here very long, has he? Quite an infant, so to speak," and a sneer played on his face.

"No, he hasn't been here very long, but he's going to stay a long while, and may grow up to quarterback of the School eleven or something like that, or make something better," retorted the Wee One, who now that the battle was in sight was rather enjoying the preliminary skirmishes.

"Well, what's your business?" said Chip, roughly. "I don't want to appear rude, but I've got a lot of work to do before I go to bed. Football takes most all a fellow's time just about now."

"It was about football that we came over to see you," said Frank, speaking now for the first time.

"Is that so? It's a little late to be going out for the squad," said Dixon, "and, besides that, I'm not the captain."

"I'm aware of that," retorted Frank, "and I'm not going out for the squad this year. We are interested in a fellow who is now on the squad."

"What do you think of Jimmy Turner, that young Freshman who has been showing up so well lately?" broke in the Wee One.

"He'll be good by-and-by, but he is punk now on handling the ball. It was his fumble to-day when we had a chance to score on Barrows that upset the team."

"It wasn't his fumble, and you know that as well as any one," and Freshman though he was, Frank looked the quarterback of the eleven straight in the eye. That individual had started back at the contradiction, but now recovered himself and, shutting up his fist, he took a step in Frank's direction.

"What do you mean, you little pup? Didn't Turner drop the ball? He could have scored easily if he'd had the gumption to hang onto it."

"He dropped the ball all right, but he dropped it because you didn't give him a chance to get it," said Frank, his fighting blood mounting to his cheeks.

For a moment it looked as if there was to be a scrap right on the spot. At the first accusation Chip rushed over to Frank with his eyes blazing and fists clinched. Frank held his ground, and he was reinforced in an instant by the Wee One, who jumped the moment Chip made his rush. Perhaps the consciousness that he was in the wrong and that the accusation was true withheld the blows that Chip appeared ready to rain upon his visitor.

"Come on, Dixon, let's talk it over," said the Wee One. "Put your bad temper in your pocket, and we will get down to business."

"All right, go ahead, but I don't want any one to come to my room and tell me that I chucked the game this afternoon."

"But supposing it was true."

Chip blazed out again. "I've a notion to chuck you both out of the room by the way of the window."

"That's neither hospitable nor kind. What we came here to find out is, are you willing to give young Turner a fair chance to make the eleven if he is good enough?" said the Wee One.

"What are you driving at, anyway? I'm neither the captain nor the coach."

"Of course you are not, fortunately, but you're the quarter, and as such you can make or break a halfback that is trying for a place on the team. At present your room-mate, Hillard, is playing at right half, and, naturally, since he is a fraternity brother of yours, you want him to stay there. And you don't want any one else, even though some one else might improve the eleven, to win his place. Isn't that so?"

Chip sat glowering at the speaker, but did not answer.

"All right. There's an old saying I've seen somewhere, and I guess it's true, that 'silence gives consent.' You admit what I've said?"

"I don't admit anything of the kind," snapped Chip. "Hillard is a better back than this fellow Turner will ever be."

"Since," went on the Wee One, as cool as a cucumber, and paying no attention to Chip's interruption, "since you agreed that what I say is true, I want to know if you will play square with Turner. Goodness knows this eleven has been messed up by you and your friends in Gamma Tau pretty badly, and if there's the smallest little bit of a chance to improve it, and let us have an opportunity to pull out the Warwick game, you ought to be willing for the sake of yourself, if not for the school, to drop the favorites."

Chip was showing evidences of the greatest difficulty to keep from bringing the matter then and there to blows. He was opening and shutting his hands and gritting his teeth. Finally he burst forth:

"I don't know what you duffers are here for, trying some kind of bullyragging on me. It's you fellows who are playing favorites, not me. Now I want you both to get out of this room and stay out. I'll play just whoever I wish on that eleven."

"Oh, so you are the captain, after all—I thought you said you weren't."

Chip could have bitten his tongue out for the admission, but it was too late now to change it, and, having made the statement, he went on: "I've got enough of a say to keep Turner on the side line. He's only a Freshman," he said contemptuously. "If he's good enough he can make the team some other year. He can't make it this one, not as long as I'm quarterback."

"Oh, very well, Mr. Dixon, if that's the way you feel about it there's no use in our staying here and keeping you from getting that lesson," said the Wee One, "but getting it will be a waste of time because you will not have a chance to use it. We only wanted a promise from you to let Turner alone, and not to hinder him in any development he may make. Since you are not willing, we have a little story for the Doctor in the morning. If he hears it, you might as well pack your pajamas, and buy your ticket for New York. Good night, Mr. Dixon," said the Wee One, making a sweeping bow. "Come on, Frank, it's no use, the quarterback has a severe case of astigmatism."

Frank rose and the two headed for the door. But Chip's curiosity was aroused. He followed them to the entry. "May I ask what you have that you think the Doctor will be interested to hear?"

"Oh, no," said the Wee One, "we don't want to take your time. It wouldn't help our case any. We must be hurrying along."

"But I insist on knowing," said Chip, following to the head of the stairs. "If you are going to tell the Doctor something about me I have a right to know. What is it?" Alarm began to show in his bearing.

"Well, if you are dying to know about it, it is just this. We have pretty good evidence that you were one of the bunch that hazed Frank here, the night he came to school."

Chip gave a sneering laugh. "Oh, that's it, is it? I guess you won't be able to prove that. And that's what you've been taking up my time for? You are a pretty pair of young sleuths, ha, ha, ha, ha!" Chip threw his head back and laughed long and noisily.

The Wee One waited till Chip had laughed himself out and then said, very quietly: "Well, maybe we can't prove it, and perhaps we were wasting your time and our own. Good night."

Chip stood grinning as the boys took a couple of steps down the stairs. Suddenly the Wee One stopped, put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out the leather wristlet. "Oh, by the way, Chip, is this yours?" he asked, holding it up so that Chip could see it plainly.

"Sure, it's mine," said Chip. "Where did you find it——" and there he stopped as a grin spread over the faces of the two boys who were watching him intently. "No, I guess it isn't, after all; it looked like one I lost," he added, seeing that he had made a slip.

"Well, I'm sure it is yours. There's a very pretty little bunch of initials inside, and they look remarkably like C. D. And how about this perfectly good little strap?" holding up the strap that Frank had picked up on the playground the morning after the hazing. "This has the legend 'C. Dixon' printed very plainly on it. You make very pretty letters, Chip. You will make a fortune as a painter of window signs when you grow up and finish your education." The Wee One's tone was smooth, but irritating, and Chip was ready to fight, but he saw at once that he was powerless, and he knew very well what the Doctor's attitude would be. The proof was before him.

"Come back into the room," he said, and when they were inside the door, "What do you want me to do?"

"All we want to have you do is to give Jimmy Turner a fair chance. If he is good enough to make the team we don't want you to put anything in his way," said Frank. "In return for this we agree to say nothing about the hazing."

"It's a bargain," said Chip. "Now give me the straps."

"Oh, dear, no," said the Wee One, "we will return those when the season is over. But for the present I think I'll hang onto them, thank you. Good night, Mr. Dixon." The Wee One put the emphasis a little on the Mister. Chip did not answer, but stood with his back towards them, looking out of the window.

"Well, I guess that will hold him for a while," said the Wee One as they left the building. "And now it is up to young Freshman Turner himself."