True to his word, old Daniel Holbrook drove his sorrel horse up to the school at noon on Sunday and brought Neil Durant and Teeny-bits down to the little white house that had been his home for thirty years. "Ma" Holbrook was a motherly person, plump, gray-haired and smiling.

"I do hope you two are good and hungry," she said, after Teeny-bits had introduced Neil. "We'll sit right down and keep sittin' till we're full."

It came over Teeny-bits suddenly as he sat down at the oval table and faced the familiar array of thick china, glassware and inexpensive cutlery what a different life he had been leading for the past few weeks, and he glanced at Neil to see what effect this homely air of simplicity would have on the son of a major-general. But the football captain showed by neither word nor sign that he noticed anything crude or unfamiliar. Dad Holbrook whetted the carving knife briskly on a steel sharpener and stood up to attack the two roosters. He heaped a bounteous supply of white and dark meat and "stuffing" on each plate and passed it to "Ma", who put on brown corn fritters and sweet potatoes baked with sirup.

"I never saw anything look so good in my life," said Neil, and a moment later he added: "Or taste so good, either."

Ma Holbrook beamed with pleasure, and said to herself that Teeny-bits' friend was "real nice." Teeny-bits himself ate with relish and enjoyment, and at the sight of Neil's contented manner of attacking the food lost most of his feeling of uneasiness.

"Land of Goshen!" Ma suddenly exclaimed, "I forgot to bring on the conserve!" And getting up hurriedly from the table she stepped quickly out into the pantry. From that little room presently came the sound of a creaking chair, and Teeny-bits knew that Ma was standing on the seat to reach one of those richly laden jars that adorned the upper shelves, row on row. There was the scrape of a spoon against glass and then Ma Holbrook appeared in the door, bearing a dish full of a golden substance that Teeny-bits recognized as her famous preserved watermelon. No one had ever failed to become the slave of his appetite when confronted by this masterpiece of Ma's handiwork, and Neil Durant, after putting one mouthful to his lips, looked at Teeny-bits with such a blissful expression that Teeny-bits felt all constraint and uneasiness slip suddenly away.

"You can't beat it anywhere in this world," he said with a smile.

It was an unpretentious sort of pleasure that Teeny-bits and his friend shared that Sunday afternoon. When the meal was over they walked lazily through the village to look at some of the old buildings that were standing in Revolutionary days and then they came lazily back and Dad Holbrook harnessed the sorrel horse and drove them up to Ridgley. Neil Durant spoke sincerely when he said:

"I don't know when I've had such a good Sunday, and as for the dinner—I could talk a week about it."

While Teeny-bits and the football captain were spending the afternoon in Hamilton, two of their schoolmates, Campbell and Bassett, were using their time, as it seemed to them, to no little advantage. Campbell had telephoned to his mother and had persuaded her to send the family automobile—a heavy, seven-passenger machine—to the school for him.

The chauffeur brought it to a stop in front of Gannett Hall at twelve o'clock and Campbell had the satisfaction of ordering the driver to take the rear seat and, with Bassett at his side, of piloting the big car out of the campus. He went by the most roundabout way and cut the corners of the gravel drives at a pace that was intended to make the Ridgleyites who were lounging in the dormitory windows sit up and take notice. After a spin out through Greensboro they arrived at the Campbell place in time for dinner and Bassett had an opportunity to see the "got-rich-quick" pictures and to eat from plates that were lavishly decorated in the best style of the shops that cater to the tastes of those persons whose family crest is the dollar sign. Bassett thought it was "grand and gorgeous" and he made a mental note of several things that he intended to have duplicated in his own home at the next available opportunity.

Campbell, Senior, was away on a business trip, but Mrs. Campbell succeeded in making the dinner sufficiently impressive. She was a large woman with a heavy, double chin and a high, somewhat whining voice which she kept in constant use. Obviously she was much attached to Tracey, and Bassett could see with half a glance that her son could, by using his talents, persuade her to do almost anything for him.

"I suppose you two are great friends," she said to Bassett. "Every one likes Tracey."

"Oh, yes, we go around together a lot," said the Whirlwind with his most winning smile.

"And are you as athletic as Tracey is?" asked Mrs. Campbell.

"Well, you see, I've got flat feet," said Bassett in a tone that implied that if he were not so afflicted he would be captain of all the major sports in the school.

"You're on the first team now, I suppose, Tracey," said Mrs. Campbell.

"No," said Tracey, "they're still making me play with the scrub."

"Why?" demanded his mother, raising her shrill voice. "You told me two weeks ago that the coach was going to promote you. What happened, will you tell me?"

"They're not giving Tracey a fair show, Mrs. Campbell," declared Bassett. "The coach has a few favorites and he can't see anything that any one else does."

Mrs. Campbell let her fork fall into her plate with a clatter. "I'm going to see Doctor Wells about it!" she declared. "Such a condition is perfectly shameful! Why, it's—it's——"

"Now, mother, don't do anything like that," warned Tracey. "You'd only spoil what chances I've got."

"Well, if they can't treat you fairly, I'd rather have you leave the school. Your father will have something to say about this when he comes home. I don't doubt that he'll go right up there and make them stand around a bit."

"By the time he gets home I'll be on the team," said Tracey.

In the afternoon Campbell and his satellite rode out into the country without the chauffeur and Tracey took occasion to race any automobile that would accept an obvious challenge. It was his particular delight to drive alongside a car of one of the cheaper makes and to pretend that he was doing his utmost to pass and in that way to lure the small-car owner into competition. Sometimes he succeeded and after he had made his victim believe that the big car was about to be vanquished he would step hard on the accelerator and leave the scene of competition in a cloud of dust. On such occasions Bassett felt called upon to turn and thumb his nose at the crestfallen driver.

At dusk the pair came back to Greensboro for refreshment and Campbell declared that he would take Bassett to a "regular place."

Greensboro was a bustling town in which there were department stores, theaters and restaurants. The stores and theaters were closed, but the restaurants were open, though Sunday business was dull. Campbell drove the big car down a side street and stopped in front of a building that was decorated with an Oriental sign announcing to the world that this was the Eating Palace of Chuan Kai. "Here's where I feed you the dinner I owe you," he said.

Tracey seemed to be well known to the Oriental managers of the restaurant. Chuan Kai himself, a yellow Chinaman in American clothes, greeted him in with a smile that showed his tusks; he directed the two to a table set in a little booth that was decorated with panels showing dragons and temples. Here Tracey and Bassett lolled back at ease, ate chow mein and chop suey with mushrooms, drank tea from small cups without handles and smoked till the air of the little booth was blue.

Chuan Kai stole softly in and out and occasionally glanced with satisfaction at the two students. They were spending money freely and the wily old Oriental knew that young Campbell would drop a fat tip into his yellow palm when it so pleased him to leave the restaurant. Silently the Chinese waiters in their slippers and loose trousers slipped in and out of the mysterious regions where the strange food was prepared. Tracey, displaying nonchalance for Bassett's benefit, declared that old Chuan Kai kept "a dozen Chinks on the job", and that they all slept in rooms directly above the restaurant. The persons who sat at the inlaid tables and leaned heavily on their elbows as they scanned the much-fingered menus were a nondescript lot—some the riff-raff of the town who found it cheaper to eat at Kai's than to eat elsewhere, others, more respectable in appearance, who doubtless had been drawn to the place by curiosity.

"Do you really want to give him a good jolt?" said Bassett to Campbell.

"I told you I did."

"Then why not try my plan? I know it will work."

Bassett leaned forward and talked in low tones as if fearing to be overheard, but there was no danger of that, for the other persons in the restaurant were too much interested in their own affairs to eavesdrop on two young fellows chatting in a booth.

At eight o'clock Campbell and Bassett sauntered out and Chuan Kai received his fat tip. The big car rolled out to the "mansion" on the hillock and, when the chauffeur had been found, sped to Ridgley School. Five minutes before nine it discharged its burden at the doors of Gannett Hall.

During the week that followed there was a frenzy of football talk in every Ridgley dormitory. At chapel on Tuesday morning Doctor Wells granted Neil Durant's request to speak to the school. The football captain mounted the platform a little nervously, but he made a straightforward speech in which he appealed for more candidates for the scrub. "There are a good many likely-looking fellows in this school who have never tried for the football team," he said. "It's late in the season, but there's a chance for them now on the scrub and, if they show any real ability, an opportunity with the team. We've got to do our best to beat Jefferson this year and we can't afford to overlook good material even now, so if you want to show your school spirit come down to the field this afternoon."

The result of the speech and of numerous personal appeals was that a dozen new players appeared with the scrub that afternoon; they were not a remarkable addition in respect to quality, however, and after a couple of days of looking them over Coach Murray remarked to Neil Durant that he was afraid that none of them would "set the world on fire."

Those were days of feverish activity on the football field; the coach drove the members of the first team for all they were worth and when he thought they were in danger of being overworked from too much scrimmaging he called them together in the locker building and gave them blackboard talks. In the middle of the week he advanced Tracey Campbell and Fred Harper to the first squad; he then began to test some new and intricate formations.

Among the candidates who had responded to Neil Durant's appeal had been Snubby Turner. Snubby succeeded Fred Harper as quarter-back of the scrub and felt an immense elation which he intimated to Teeny-bits one afternoon on the way back to the campus.

"Keep it up, Snubby," said Teeny-bits. "You're putting life into the scrub."

"If I'll come up to your room to-night, will you give me a few pointers about running with the ball?" asked Snubby as the two approached the Gannett Hall steps.

"Come up right after supper and we'll talk for half an hour; then I'll have to study," said Teeny-bits.

Snubby Turner came—but not to talk about football. He closed the door softly behind him and looked at his friend with such a strange expression on his freckled face that Teeny-bits said:

"What in the name of mud is the matter, Snubby?"

"Do you suppose there's any one in this school mean enough to steal?" asked Turner. "When I went down to football practice to-day I left my gold watch and a purse with twelve dollars in it in the top drawer of my chiffonier. They're both gone!"

"Are you sure?" asked Teeny-bits.

"Yes, I am," declared Snubby. "Absolutely sure."