had been unable to find accommodations on any other part of the car, and he wanted ninety-four cents, please.  Whereupon a brief epistle announced that the matter had been referred to the legal department and, upon advice, the road was regretfully obliged to refuse further consideration of the claim.  That settled the matter, except that Peters wrote once more and told the agent quite frankly what he, Peters, thought of the railway, its officers, legal department, road-bed, rolling-stock and claims department; especially claims department!  Undoubtedly the company had grounds for libel after the receipt of that epistle, but it never made use of them.

But we are far ahead of our story.

The Thacher game was not especially interesting.  Thacher faced Brimfield with a light team, and, unable to gain consistently through the line, reverted to kicking.  This gave the visiting backs some good practice in the handling of punts but gained the home team little advantage.  Brimfield rolled up twenty-six points in four ten-minute periods and was scored on but once when, in the third quarter, Thacher managed a brilliant field-goal from the enemy’s thirty-three yards.

The contest was all over before four o’clock and Brimfield made a wild rush from the grounds to the town in the endeavour to get the four-fifteen trolley for Wharton.  The team, which was provided with a coach, and about half the “rooters” succeeded, but the rest, Clint and Amy among them, arrived too late.

As there was not another car until a quarter to five, they set out to kill time by viewing the town.  Thacher was not a very large place and, after wandering up one side of the main street and down the other, looking in all the windows, and leisurely partaking of college-ices at the principal drug store, there was still ten minutes left to be disposed of.  At the moment of making the discovery they were a block from the square from which the trolley car trundled away to Wharton, and they could have covered the distance in something like ten seconds from a standing start.  In spite of this, however, they never got that car!

Gradually they had become separated from the other fellows, and now they were alone in their grandeur watching the efforts of a youth of about twenty to start an automobile which stood in front of Thacher’s principal hotel, the Commercial House.  They were not especially interested in the spectacle and really didn’t much care whether the youth ever got going, but there wasn’t much else to look at.  Every time the engine started and the youth made a wild dash at the throttle he reached it too late.  Before he could pull it down the chug-chugging died away.  Several minutes passed and Clint viewed the clock in front of a jewelry store across the street apprehensively.  It was seventeen minutes of five.  He tugged Amy’s sleeve.

“Come on,” he said.  “We don’t want to miss this one.”

“Right-o,” replied Amy.  “Let’s see, though, if he makes it this time.”