“Who’s going to win?” asked Clint when Amy had subsided long enough to be spoken to.  “Or, rather, who’s going to get second place?”

“Second place?  Why second place?” asked Amy suspiciously.

“Just wondered.  Of course, as you’re running the thing you’ll naturally get first place, Amy.  I was curious to know who you’d decided on for second man.”

Amy laughed.  “Well, it will probably be Holt, if he can spare enough time from football practice to play.  He’s had a match with Lewis on for two days now.  They’ve each won a set and Holt can’t play in the afternoon and Lewis refuses to get up early enough in the morning.  And there you are!”

“Why don’t you award the match to yourself by default?” inquired Clint innocently.

“To myself?  How the dickens—­Oh, get out of here!”

Clint got out and as he made his way across to the second team gridiron he heard Amy’s impassioned voice behind him.

“Say, Grindell, where under the Stars and Stripes have you been?  Lee has been waiting here for you ever since two o’clock!  You fellows certainly give me a pain!  Now, look here—­”

Clint chuckled.  “Funny,” he reflected, “to get so excited about a tennis tournament.  Now, if it was football—­”

Clint shook his head over the vagaries of his friend and very soon forgot them in the task of trying to keep the troublesome Robbins where he belonged, which, in Clint’s judgment, was among the second team substitutes.  That was a glorious afternoon for the second team, for they held the ’varsity scoreless in the first period and allowed them only the scant consolation of a field-goal in the second.  “Boutelle’s Babies,” as some waggish first team man had labelled them, went off in high feather and fancied themselves more than ever.

Clint smiled at himself all the way to his room afterwards.  He had played good football and had thrice won praise from “Boots” that afternoon.  Even Jack Innes had gone out of his way to say a good word.  He had clearly outplayed Saunders, the ’varsity left tackle, on attack and had held his own against the opposing end on defence.  More than that, he had once nailed the redoubtable Kendall well behind the line, receiving an extremely hard look from the half-back, and had on two occasions got down the field under the punt in time to tackle the catcher.  Yes, Clint was very well satisfied with himself today, so well pleased that the fact that he had bruised his left knee so that he had to limp a little as he went upstairs didn’t trouble him a mite.  He hoped Amy would be back from that silly tennis tournament so that he might tell him all about it.  But Amy wasn’t back, as he discovered presently.  What met his eyes as he opened the door from the staircase well, however, put Amy quite out of his mind for awhile.

The door of his own room was closed, but the doors of 13 and 15 were open, and midway between them a rather startling drama was being enacted.  The participants were Penny Durkin, Harmon Dreer and a smaller boy whose name afterwards transpired to be Melville.  Melville was no longer an active participant, though, when Clint appeared unnoted on the scene and paused across the corridor in surprise.  It was Penny and Harmon Dreer who held the centre of the stage.