On the eleventh of November Brimfield played her last game away from home. Chambers Technological Institute was her opponent. About every fellow in school went over to Long Island and witnessed a very sad performance by their team. The slump had arrived. That was evident from the first moment of play. Brimfield was outpunted, outrushed and outgeneraled. Chambers ran up 17 points in the first half and 13 more in the last, while all Brimfield could do was to make one solitary touchdown and a field-goal, the latter with less than thirty seconds of playing time left. Williams missed the goal after the touchdown by some ten yards. Not only was Brimfield outplayed, but she showed up wretchedly as to physical condition. It was a warm day and the Maroon-and-Grey warriors seemed to feel the heat much more than their opponents and were a sorry-looking lot by the end of the third period.

The second team attended the game in a body, "Boots" for once relenting, and looked on in stupefied sorrow while their doughty foe was humiliated and defeated.

"Gee, I wish Robey would put us in in the next half," sighed Gafferty to Steve after the second period had reached its sad conclusion. "I'll bet you we'd put up twice the game the 'varsity has."

"I don't see what ails them," responded Steve quite affably. The calamitous drama unfolding before him had for the moment made him forget his rÔle of aloofness and cynical indifference. "Why, even Andy Miller is up in the air! He hasn't caught a pass once, and he's had four chances, and he's missed enough tackles to fill a book!"

"One grand slump," said Gafferty. "That's what it is, Edwards, one wonderful, spectacular, iridescent slump! And the only person who is pleased is Danny, I guess. He's been begging the 'varsity fellows to get stale and be done with it. And now they've obliged him. Too bad, though, they couldn't have slumped the first of the week. It's fierce to be beaten by a tech school!"

In the third period Coach Robey hustled the best of his substitutes on in the hope of stemming the tide of defeat, and, while the new men showed more dash and go, they couldn't stop the triumphant advance of the black-and-orange enemy. To make matters worse, when it was all over, Benson, who played right end, had a strained ligament in his ankle, Williams was limping with a bad knee and Quarter-back Milton had to be helped on and off the cars like a confirmed invalid. There wasn't a regular member of the 'varsity who could have stood up against a hard gust of wind five minutes after the final whistle had blown!

The school returned to Brimfield disgruntled, disappointed and critical. There was scarcely a fellow on the train who didn't have a perfectly good theory as to the trouble with the eleven and who wasn't willing and eager to explain it. As for the game with Claflin, now just a fortnight distant, why, it was already as good as lost! Anyone would have told you that. The only point of disagreement was the size of the score. That ran, according to various estimates, from 6 to 0 to 50 to 3. It was a wonder they allowed Brimfield that 3! But all this was on the way home. Gradually the reaction set in and hope crept back. After all, a slump was something you had to contend with. It happened to every team some time in the season. Perhaps it was lucky it had come now instead of later. Of course, Chambers Tech was only a fair-to-middling team and Brimfield ought to have beaten her hands down, but since she hadn't, there was no use in worrying about it. By the time supper was over that evening, the stock of the Brimfield Football Team had risen to close to par, and anyone who had had the temerity to even suggest the possibility of a victory for Claflin would have been promptly and efficaciously squelched!

The Chambers game resulted in a shake-up. That it was coming was hinted on Monday when only a few of the substitutes on the first were given any work and four of the second team fellows were lifted from their places and shifted over to what represented the 'varsity that day. These four were Trow and Saunders, tackles; Thursby, centre, and Freer, half-back. On Tuesday the first-string 'varsity men were back at work, with the exception of Benson, whose ankle was in pretty bad condition. Thursby was given a try-out at centre and Saunders at left tackle in the short scrimmage that followed practice. Thursby showed up so brilliantly that many predicted the retirement of Innes to the bench. Saunders failed to impress Coach Robey very greatly and he and Freer and Trow went back to the second the next day. The slump was still in evidence and the work was light until Thursday. Benson was still on crutches and his place was being taken by Roberts. Thursby ran Innes such a good race for the position of centre-rush that a substitute centre named Coolidge suddenly found his nose out of joint and faced the prospect of viewing the Claflin game from the bench.

The school held its first mass meeting on Wednesday evening of that week and cheered and sang and whooped things up with a fine frenzy. The discouragement of the Chambers game was quite forgotten. Andy Miller, in a short speech, soberly predicted a victory over Claflin, and the audience yelled until the roof seemed to shake. Coach Robey gave a rÉsumÉ of the season, thanked the school for its support of the team, pledged the best efforts of everyone concerned and, while refusing to say so in so many words, hinted that Brimfield would have the long end of the score on the twenty-fifth. After that the football excitement grew and spread and took possession of the school like an epidemic. Recitations became farces, faculty fumed and threatened—and bore it, and some one hundred and fifty boys fixed their gaze on the twenty-fifth of November and lived breathlessly in the future.

There was a second mass meeting on Saturday, a meeting that ended in a parade up and down the Row, much noise and a vast enthusiasm. Brimfield had met Southby Academy in the afternoon and had torn the visitors to tatters, scoring almost at will and sending the hopes of her adherents soaring into the zenith. To be sure, Southby had presented a rather weak team, but, as an offset to that, Brimfield had played without the services of the regular right end, without her captain and with a back-field largely substitute during most of the game. There was nothing wrong with Andy Miller, but it was thought best to save him for the final conflict. The last fortnight of a football season is a hard period for the captain, no matter how smoothly things have progressed; and Brimfield had had a particularly fortunate six weeks. Andy Miller was not the extremely nervous type, but, nevertheless, he had lost some fourteen pounds during the month and was far "finer" than Danny Moore wanted to see him. So Andy, dressed in "store clothes," saw the Southby game from the side-line, hobnobbing with the coaches and Joe Benson, still on crutches, and with Norton, who, after smashing out two touchdowns in the first period, was also taken out to be saved.

There was no trace of the slump left, and the final score that Saturday afternoon was 39 to 7, and the school was hysterically delighted, which accounts for the added enthusiasm which kept them marching up and down the Row in the evening until the patience of a lenient faculty was exhausted, and Mr. Conklin, prodded into action by a telephone message from the Cottage, appeared and dispersed the assembly.

The second team was to go out of business on Thursday, and several members of it were eager to end the season with a banquet. Freer and Saunders dropped in on Steve and Tom Sunday afternoon to talk it over and win their support. It was a nasty day, rainy and blowy and cold, and most of the fellows were huddling indoors around the radiators. Steve and Tom, on opposite sides of the table, were chewing the ends of their pens and trying to write their Sunday letters when the visitors came. Steve was studiedly haughty, as, to his mind, became one who was unjustly suspected of dishonesty. The visitors seemed puzzled by his manner and presently addressed themselves almost entirely to Tom, who, anxious to atone for his room-mate's churlishness, was nervously affable and unnaturally enthusiastic.

"We don't see," explained Saunders, "why we shouldn't be allowed to have a banquet after we quit training. We deserve it. We've done as much, in a way, as the 'varsity fellows to win from Claflin. We've been the goats all the season and it seems to me we ought to get something out of it. What we want to do is to go to Josh and get him to give us permission to have a blow-out in the village Thursday night."

"Or here," supplemented Freer, "if he won't let us go to the village. What do you fellows think?"

"I think it's a good scheme," answered Tom. "And we might get one over on the 'varsity, too. I mean we'd have our banquet and lots of fun whether we won from Claflin or not, while the 'varsity, if it loses the game, doesn't enjoy its banquet very much, I guess."

"Well, will you fellows come around to Brownell's room to-night after supper? Al is willing enough, but, being captain, he doesn't want to start the thing himself. We're going to see all the fellows this afternoon and then have a sort of a meeting this evening about eight. You'll come, Edwards?"

"Yes, thanks."

"All right. Come on, Jimmy. We've got several of the fellows to see yet."

"There wouldn't be very many of us, would there?" asked Tom. "Now that Robey has pinched Thursby there's only about fifteen left on the team."

"Sixteen, but we thought we'd get Robey to come if he would, and 'Boots,' of course, and maybe Danny. That would make nineteen in all."

"Where would you have it? Is there a hotel in the village?"

"Not exactly, but there's a sort of a boarding-house there; 'Larch Villa,' they call it. They'd look after us all right. They've got a fine big dining-room which we could have all to ourselves. We haven't talked price with them yet, but Al says we could probably get a good feed for about a dollar and a half apiece. That wouldn't be so much, eh?"

"Cheap, I'd call it," said Freer.

"We'd have beefsteak and things like that, you know," continued Saunders enthusiastically, "things that are filling. No froth and whipped cream, you know! And lots of gingerale!"

"Sounds good," laughed Tom. "I wish it was to-night. Do you think Mr. Fernald will let us?"

"I don't see why not. I spoke to Mr. Conklin about it and he said he would favour it if Josh came to him about it. If he won't let us go to the village, we thought maybe he'd let us have our feed here after the regular supper, if we paid for it ourselves. Well, you fellows show up about eight. Don't forget, because we want to get the whole bunch there and talk it all over and appoint a committee to see Josh."

Tom was silent for a minute after the visitors had departed. Then, hesitatingly, "Steve," he said, "what's the good of acting like that with fellows?"

"Like what?" asked Steve.

"You know well enough. Freezing up and talking as if you had a mouthful of icicles. You might be—be decently polite when fellows come in. Freer is a dandy chap, and Saunders is all right, too. But you treated them as if they were—were a couple of cut-throats."

"I wasn't impolite," denied Steve. "As long as those fellows choose to think what they do about me, you can't expect me to slop over with them."

"You haven't any way of knowing what they think about you," said Tom vigorously. "You take it for granted that every fellow in school believes that yarn of Sawyer's. I don't suppose a dozen fellows ever gave it a second thought."

"I know better. Don't you suppose I can tell? Almost every chap I know treats me differently now. Even—even Roy—and Harry—act as if they'd rather not be seen with me!"

"Oh, piffle!" exclaimed Tom indignantly. "That's a rotten thing to say, Steve! Why, you might as well say that I believe the yarn!"

"You?" Steve laughed meaningly. "You wouldn't be likely to."

"Then neither would Roy or Harry. They haven't known you as long as I have, but they know you wouldn't do a thing like that."

"I don't see why not," replied Steve stubbornly. "The book was found on this table. And Sawyer says he saw me with it. I guess it would be natural for them to believe what Sawyer says."

"They don't, though, as I happen to know," replied Tom stoutly. "Even if you did bring the book up here, that doesn't mean that you were going to—to use it. What really happened, I suppose, was that you took it up without thinking and didn't realise you had it when you came back."

Steve stared at him incredulously. "Well, of all the cheek!" he gasped.

"What do you mean?" asked Tom.

"I mean that that's a fine thing for you to get off," answered Steve indignantly. "You'll be saying next that you saw me bring the book in here that night!"

"I didn't, but—hang it, Steve, the thing was here! You told me so yourself. I thought you confessed that you brought it up without knowing."

"Oh, cut it," said Steve wearily. "I'm willing to be decent about it, Tom, but I don't want to listen to drivel like that."

"Drivel?" repeated the other, puzzled. "Say, what's the matter with you, anyway, Steve? I don't say you meant to cheat with the old book; I know mighty well you didn't; I told Telford so and convinced him of it, too; but I don't see why you need to get so hot under the collar when I—when I simply remind you that you did bring the book up here!"

"So I brought it up, did I?" asked Steve with an ugly laugh.

"Well, didn't you? Who did, then? You know well enough I didn't."

"Do I? How do I know it? Look here, Tom, we might as well have a show-down right now. I did not bring that blue-book into this room. I did not take it out of 'Horace's'. But 'Horace' found it on this table, poked under a pile of books. Now, then, what do you know about it?"

Tom stared in wide-eyed amazement for a moment. "You—you mean to say you think I did it!" he gasped finally.

Steve shrugged his shoulders.

"But—but you were here when I came back from downstairs, Steve! You saw that I didn't have it!"

"I didn't see anything of the sort. I didn't notice whether you had anything in your hands when you came in. Why should I? You might have slipped it under your coat. There's no use trying that game, Tom."

"Then why—why did you tell 'Horace' you took the book yourself if you knew you didn't?"

"Because one of us must have, you idiot."

"Oh, I see," answered Tom thoughtfully. "You wanted to keep me out of it, eh? Look here, Steve, what would I want with Upton's composition? My own was written two days before."

Steve shrugged his shoulders again impatiently. "That puzzled me. I didn't know. You did say afterwards, though, that your own comp. was pretty rotten. I didn't know but what——"

"You have a fine opinion of me, haven't you?" asked Tom bitterly. "You've known me ever since we were kids at kindergarten and you think that of me! Thanks, Steve!"

"Well, what——"

"Now you hold on! I'm going to tell you something." Tom was on his feet now, his hands on the edge of the table, his gaze bent sternly on his chum who was seated across the littered surface. "I didn't even see that blue-book of Upton's. I'll swear it wasn't on Mr. Daley's table when I went down there. I know nothing of how it got into this room. I tell you this on my word of honour, Steve. Do you believe me?"

Steve's gaze met Tom's troubledly, then shifted. "Oh, if you say so, I suppose I'll have to. But if you didn't bring the book up here——"

"That means you don't believe me," said Tom quietly. "Very well. Now, one more thing, Steve." Tom's eyes were blazing now, though his face was white. "Don't you speak to me unless you have to from now on, until you come to me and tell me that you believe what I've told you!"

"But, Tom, you can see yourself that it's mighty queer! If you——"

"You heard what I said! Perhaps you think I owe you something for trying to shield me from Mr. Daley. I don't, though. When you set me down for a cheat you more than squared that account. That's all. After this I don't want you to speak to me."

Steve shrugged his shoulders angrily. "That goes," he said. "When you want me to speak to you, you'll ask me, Tom! And don't you forget it!"

Both boys went back to their letters in silence. After a while Steve put on a raincoat and tramped down the stairs and over to Hensey. He meant to call on Andy Miller, but Andy was out and only the saturnine Williams was in the room. Although Steve had grown to like Williams very well, yet, in his present mood, the right tackle was not the sort of company Steve craved, and after a few minutes of desultory football talk he went on. He would have called on Roy and Harry, but now that he and Tom had quarrelled they would, he thought, side with Tom. In the end he found himself in the gymnasium. Several fellows were splashing about in the tank and Steve joined them. For an hour he forgot his troubles in performing stunts to the envious appreciation of the others in the pool. Applause was grateful to him that afternoon, and when he had dressed himself again and, avoiding the room, had gone across to Wendell to wait for the doors to open for supper, he felt better. Perhaps, he told himself, Tom really didn't know anything about that plaguey book, but even so he needn't get so cocky about it! Besides, someone must have put the book on their table and—well, the evidence was certainly against Tom!

It wasn't much fun eating supper with Tom at his elbow as grim and stiff as a plaster statue. Fortunately, Steve was well into his meal before Tom came in, and meanwhile there were others of the second team to talk to if he wanted. With no Tom to converse with he found it difficult to persist in his rÔle of haughty indifference toward the others. Besides—and it came to him with rather a shock—what they thought of him was no more than he had been thinking of Tom! Hang it, it was all pretty rotten! He'd like to choke Eric Sawyer!

It didn't take the rest of the fellows at the training table long to make the discovery that the two friends were at outs. Trow, a pale-faced, shock-haired chap, took delight in trying to engage them both in conversation at the same time, thereby increasing the embarrassment. Steve was heartily glad when he had finished his supper and could leave the table. Returning to his room under the circumstances was not appealing, but there seemed nowhere else to go. There was the library, of course, but it was a dismal place on a Sunday evening, and he didn't want to read. But, as it proved, he needn't have considered avoiding the room, for Tom didn't return after supper, and Steve finished his letter home in solitude. At eight he went over to Al Brownell's room in Torrence, not because he was especially interested in the project to be discussed, but because he had agreed to attend the gathering and was glad, besides, to get away from Number 12 Billings. Life in Number 12 didn't promise to be very delightful for awhile, he thought dolefully.

In Brownell's room Steve carefully took a position as far distant from Tom as was possible. There was a lot of talk and a good deal of fun, and in the end Steve found himself chosen one of a committee of five to call on the principal and request the permission they desired. At a little after nine he walked back to Billings alone. Tom didn't return until ten and then, with never a word between them, they undressed and went to bed. Steve didn't get to sleep very easily that night. More than once he was sorely tempted to speak across the darkness and tell Tom that he did believe him and that he was sorry. And I think he would have done it, too, in the end if Tom had not fallen asleep just then and announced the fact in the usual melodic manner. Whereupon Steve frowned, punched his pillow and flopped over.

"It isn't bothering him any," he thought. "If he wants me to speak to him, he'll have to say so. Cranky chump!"