“By Jove!   Fairfield!” exclaimed Sam.   “I—­I didn’t know it was you.   I
wouldn’t for the world have------”

“I suppose if it had been someone else you’d have ridden right over him,” said Tom quietly.

“No, indeed.  But—­er—­I guess I was going a bit too fast.  I didn’t see you—­or—­rather, I thought you’d step over a bit more.”

“Step over more!” exclaimed Bruce.  “What do you want; the whole road?  We were on the proper side for you to pass.  What’s the matter with you, Heller?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to do it I tell you.  My car is a new one, and the steering gear is a bit stiff.  I wouldn’t have done it intentionally for the world.”

“That’s right!” exclaimed Frank Nelson, a Sophomore who had been riding on the front seat with Sam.  “I thought Tom would get out of the way.”

“Thanks,” responded Tom briefly.  “I would have, if I’d known what was going to happen.”

“Are you—­are you hurt—­much?” faltered Sam.

“No, it was only a glancing blow,” and Tom began to brush the dust from his clothes, assisted by Bruce and some of those with Sam.

“I—­I’m sorry,” faltered the owner of the car.   “I wouldn’t have done
that for anything, and------”

“Especially after the ‘trick’ you played on my friends this summer,” cut in Tom.

“Oh, I say now,” began Sam.  “Look here, Fairfield, I’m as sorry as can be over this.  Will you—­will you shake hands?” and he advanced with outstretched palm.

“I will—­not!” said Tom sharply, turning aside.

There was a moment of tense silence, and then Sam went on: 

“Well, if you won’t—­you won’t—­that’s all.  I’ve done my share.”

“That’s right,” chimed in some of his cronies, including Nick Johnson.

“It was an accident, anyhow,” the latter added.

“An avoidable accident,” put in Bruce quietly.  “You are lucky it was no worse, Heller.  Tom might have been seriously injured.”

“A miss is as good as a mile,” quoted someone.  “Better give him a lift back, Sam.  I’ll walk.”

“Will you ride in the car?” asked Sam, half eagerly, for he realized how popular Tom was, and he knew how thin was the ice on which he was skating.  “Come on, there’s lots of room.”

“No—­thank you,” said Tom between his teeth, and it was an effort to add the last two words.  “I can walk.”

There was a little pause—­an embarrassed silence, and then Nick said: 

“Well, we might as well go on, Sam.”

“Yes, I guess so.  We can’t do any good here.  Come on, fellows.”

They piled back into the car.  There were some good-nights in which Sam and his crony did not join, and then the auto rolled off in the moonlight.

“Can you walk, Tom?” asked Bruce, with his arm around his friend’s shoulders.

“Oh, yes.  I’m a bit stiff, that’s all.”

“Too bad.  This is my fault.  You may be lame for football practice now.”