The Monday following the interview between Frank, the Wee One and Chip Dixon, found things moving very much better down at football practice. Horton turned up with a smiling face at the gymnasium that afternoon while the squad was dressing. "Boys," he said, "we are going to let bygones be bygones. You've been playing worse ball than you knew, and after that awful game on Saturday I thought we might as well all go over to the river and jump in. But that isn't the way to win out."

One of the boys, lacing a refractory shoe, grinned up at him. All had expected a heckling and were not prepared for this.

"But that isn't the way," he continued. "This is the last week we have, that is, the last week of hard work before our Warwick game, for we can't do much the next week which will count for anything. It will be just the polishing-off process. So I'm going to ask you if you will give me your whole attention. We are going out to make this season a success in spite of the up-and-down game we've been playing. Are you with me?"

There was a general murmur of agreement among all the fellows, and a few spoke out. "We will do our best, Mr. Horton," said big Boston Wheeler. "The trouble is that we don't seem to get together."

"That's just it," returned Horton, "you are never thinking about the team; it seems to be always about your individual selves, and no team ever amounted to much that was simply eleven men. The eleven men must work as one man to make gains and stop gains by the other fellow. When you work that way and have confidence in yourselves individually as well as in yourselves as a team, there's nothing can stop you. We have a chance yet to win our big game, a fighting chance if everyone will work with a will. Now, that's all I've got to say, the rest of it is up to you fellows."

It was with something a good deal like determination that the squad tramped out onto the gridiron that afternoon, and under the urgings of Horton, the First eleven gave the Second such a pummelling as it had never before received. Everything went with a rush. Jimmy was playing on the Second and putting every ounce he had into the work, but he was unable to stop the charges of Dutton, who came through the line like a bull.

Three times the First scored on the Second, and twice held the Second safely inside the 10-yard line. Horton was jubilant, and the practice ended with hope high in every one's heart. Tuesday's practice was even better, and the school, which had fallen away from the support of the eleven, began to take more than a listless interest in the progress of things on the gridiron. Jimmy was still on the Second, and taking most of the punishment from big Dutton. Hillard seemed to have taken on a new grip of the ball and was playing faultlessly. Jimmy had had only one chance at the position on the First, and while he was in this position Chip had lived up to the bargain.

"Wonder what's come over Dixon," said Jimmy to Frank that night, "he gave me that ball to-day as if it were the dearest possession he ever owned and was afraid I might break it. He was so careful he almost made it hard for me, but hard in a different way from the day the Barrows put it over us. No chance for a fumble there."

Frank and the Wee One exchanged winks.

"Oh, I guess Chip has had a change of heart," said the latter. "Reformed, maybe."

"He certainly has reformed as far as I'm concerned. I grew quite fond of him before the practice was over, although I know he doesn't like me."

"Whether he likes you or not makes no particular difference as long as he gives that ball to you right," said Frank.

"Oh, but his sweet disposition comes too late, for I'll not get another chance. Hillard is playing like a breeze, and he's certain to go in first. My only chance is for him to break a leg or his neck or something, then I might have a lick at it."

"But in the meantime you are learning the game. I saw Horton speaking to you the other day; what did he say?"

"Oh, he told me to keep at it, I might make the team in a year or two."

"Don't believe him," broke in Lewis. "Horton was asking for a little bit of advice from my room-mate." Lewis, since his retirement from the onerous duties of holding down the sideline, assumed the position of critic and cynic. "And that makes me think," Lewis continued, "I saw Horton talking to you the other day in the gymnasium, Frank. Was he asking you for advice, too?"

"Oh, just telling me that I ought to come out and get a little practice at the game myself. He said he thought I was too light this year, but that I might thicken up next year. He put me through a course of sprouts on what I knew and what I didn't know."

"Didn't take you long to tell him that latter section, I suppose," ventured the loquacious Lewis, "but please take warning from my case and recognize that even the most gifted coach sees only a small amount of the real talent." Lewis threw out his chest.

"Frank, did they tell you how Lewis distinguished himself the first day he was out?" said Jimmy.

"Well, that story ought not to be lost. Horton picked up a couple of elevens the first afternoon we were out, along about the end of the first week of practice. He had been showing us how to fall on the ball, which was where Lewis shone bright as the morning star. When the ball got loose and Lewis fell on it, it never got away, but it generally needed repairs, he fell on it so earnestly, and you know Lewis isn't a featherweight."

"This story is a chestnut, Frank," said Lewis. "Jimmy got it out of a book somewhere and retails it about me. He is giving himself more and more to unbridled fiction."

"Well," continued Jimmy, going on without seeming to notice the interruption from the hero of the story, "Lewis was placed as a halfback on one of these catch-as-catch-can teams. It was an impressive sight to see Lewis trying to run with that ball. About the time he had made up his mind which way to dodge, some one had him about the legs. Horton was good natured then and only laughed. But there was one thing that Lewis could do to the Queen's taste; as I told you, he could fall on that ball, and once, when it came popping out of the line, he dropped on it and saved the day for his side."

"See him swell up at this part of the story," said Frank.

"That particular afternoon," went on Jimmy, "in one of the scrimmages in which Lewis' team was on the defensive, one of the other backs came up to the line, but owing to the mix-up of the signals and a mix-up of players, some one lost his head-gear, and it rolled out on the side that Lewis was defending. He immediately fell on it while the runner recovered, swept over him and scored, and that was the last of Lewis as a real football player. He looked impressive after that coming onto the field, and I think once or twice Horton let him carry the balls, but they were the spare ones which were tied together with a string."

Lewis took the chaffing good-naturedly. "But wait until next year," he said. "I'm going out again and I'll try for center. My weight and fine build will strengthen up that weak spot I can tell you."

"Maybe we'll all be on the team next year," said Jimmy.

"And then it will be a mess, sure," said Frank.

As the boys were still joking about the possibilities of Lewis for center on the team of the following year, there came a knock at the door.

"Come in," yelled Lewis, "don't stop to knock."

It was a Western Union Telegraph messenger.

"A telegram for Frank Armstrong," he said. "Went to your room at No. 18, and the fellow over there said to pursue my diligent way thitherwards, and ask for one Frank Armstrong who might be in company of a fat boy with pink cheeks," Jimmy snickered, "and a brick top." It was now Lewis' turn to snicker.

Meantime Frank had taken the telegram and had broken the seal. He read it with the greatest surprise.

"Great Scott, fellows, listen to this:

"'New York, October 25. Frank Armstrong, Queen's School, Milton. David has decided to enter Queen's if possible. Will reach there Thursday. Signed, J. B. Powers.'"

"Can't get along without you. Overpowering magnetism and all that sort of thing," said Lewis.

"It's fine, isn't it?" said Frank. "The school is crowded, but if the Doctor has no objections I can take him over in No. 18 with me. There's barrels of room, and I'm sure Gleason wouldn't mind. He's a good old encyclopedia. He's busy just at present compiling records of the high jump since 1852."

"Why doesn't he go back to 1492," suggested Lewis. "Columbus was quite a little jumper himself."

"And there was the cow that jumped over the moon," said Jimmy; "tell him to get that record sure. The old bovine put them all in the shade."

"Come and tell him yourself," cried Frank, at the door. "I'm going over to see if we can't squeeze another couch in my sleeping den. It's not as big as the Grand Central, but if it can be managed, David is sure going to be with me."

"If the room is too small, why not try a trundle bed?" called out Lewis, but Frank was half way down the stairs and did not hear him.

Frank burst into No. 18 where Gleason was scratching away in his book of records. "Say, Gleason, got any objection to having another room-mate?"

"What, Web-foot, going to leave your old wife?" said Gleason, looking up in surprise.

"I don't mean that. The fellow I was down south with this summer has decided to come to Queen's, if he can get in. I know the dormitories are all crowded, and I'm willing to have him bunk in with me. He's a dandy chap. You'd like him."

"No objections from the Codfish," announced that individual. "We can set up a four-poster in the room here. It'll be very handy to hang our clothes on. We need more room here anyway," and he looked around at the disarray of clothes piled on chairs and tables and window seat. "Bring him in, sir, the more the merrier. Always room at the top," and Gleason returned to his scratching.

"It will not be necessary to put him in here. He can have half of my room," said Frank. "If the Doctor has no objection, it's settled. I had more room than I needed anyway."

"When's he coming?" inquired Gleason.

"The telegram I had says he's on the way and will be here Thursday."

"Is he a Web-foot, too?"

"No, David hasn't any feet to speak of. He walks with crutches and can't take part in athletics, but he's about the finest little chap you ever saw."

"Speaking of feet," said Gleason, "since you are not doing anything in football, why don't you go down to the track and do something there? You are a likely looking athlete, and you might be able to help old man Duffy win some points for Queen's. He needs candidates for every event. Nearly all the first string fellows graduated last year. Great chance for some young buck to distinguish himself."

"Why don't you go down and show him some speed yourself?"

"Me? Oh, I'd rather watch. You see I don't come of an athletic family. I'd rather set down what the other fellow does. Got to be some one to do that, you know."

The notion stuck in Frank's head. "I believe I'll do it," he said half to himself. "To-morrow I'll give myself up. I don't think anything will come of it, but I'd like to do something to help the school, and father has barred me out of football this year, but says I'll be hardened up enough if I stay out of it till next fall."

"You'll be hardened enough if you stay with me," said the Codfish, and Frank dived into his room, laughing.