The game, so far as scoring went, ended there.  Four minutes later the whistle shrilled for the last time, and the horde of frantic Hilltonians flooded the field and, led by the band, bore their heroes in triumph back to the school.  And, side by side, at the head of the procession, perched on the shoulders of cheering friends, swayed the two half-backs, Neil Fletcher and Paul Gale.

CHAPTER II

PAUL CHANGES HIS MIND

Two boys were sitting in the first-floor corner study in Haewood’s.  Those who know the town of Hillton, New York, will remember Haewood’s as the large residence at the corner of Center and Village Streets, from the big bow-window of which the occupant of the cushioned seat may look to the four points of the compass or watch for occasional signs of life about the court-house diagonally across.  To-night—­the bell in the tower of the town hall had just struck half after seven—­the occupants of the corner study were interested in things other than the view.

I have said that they were sitting.  Lounging would be nearer the truth; for one, a boy of eighteen years, with merry blue eyes and cheeks flushed ruddily with health and the afterglow of the day’s excitement, with hair just the color of raw silk that took on a glint of gold where the light fell upon it, was perched cross-legged amid the cushions at one end of the big couch, two strong, tanned, and much-scarred hands clasping his knees.  His companion and his junior by but two months, a dark-complexioned youth with black hair and eyes and a careless, good-natured, but rather wilful face, on which at the present moment the most noticeable feature was a badly cut and much swollen lower lip, lay sprawled at the other end of the couch, his chin buried in one palm.

Both lads were well built, broad of chest, and long of limb, with bright, clear eyes, and a warmth of color that betokened the best of physical condition.  They had been friends and room-mates for two years.  This was their last year at Hillton, and next fall they were to begin their college life together.  The dark-complexioned youth rolled lazily on to his back and stared at the ceiling.  Then—­

“I suppose Crozier will get the captaincy, Neil.”

The boy with light hair nodded without removing his gaze from the little flames that danced in the fireplace.  They had discussed the day’s happenings thoroughly, had relived the game with St. Eustace from start to finish, and now the big Thanksgiving dinner which they had eaten was beginning to work upon them a spell of dormancy.  It was awfully jolly, thought Neil Fletcher, to just lie there and watch the flames and—­and—­He sighed comfortably and closed his eyes.  At eight o’clock he, with the rest of the victorious team, was to be drawn about the town in a barge and cheered at, but meanwhile there was time to just close his eyes—­and forget—­everything—­