ained, however, many
unregenerate youths who continued to poke fun at "The Conqueror," and of
these was Amy Byrd.

It isn't beyond the bounds of reason that jealousy may have had
something to do with Amy's attitude, for Amy was "a swell dresser"
himself and had a fine eye for effects of colour. Amy's combinations of
lavender or dull rose or pearl-grey shirts, socks and ties were
recognised masterpieces of sartorial achievement. The trouble with Amy
was that when the tennis season was over he had nothing to interest
himself in aside from maintaining a fairly satisfactory standing in
class, and I'm sorry to say that Amy didn't find the latter undertaking
wildly exciting. He was, therefore, an excellent subject for the
mischief microbe, and the mischief microbe had long since discovered the
fact. Usually Amy's escapades were harmless enough; for that matter, the
present one was never intended to lead to any such unfortunate results
as actually attended it; and in justice to Amy it should be distinctly
stated that he would never have gone into the affair had he foreseen the
end of it. But he couldn't see any further into the future than you or
I, and so--yes, on the whole, I think it may be fairly said that Amy
Byrd started it.

It was on a Tuesday, what time Amy should have been deep in study, that
Clint Thayer, across the table, had his attention wrested from his book
by the sound of deep, mirthful chuckles. He glanced over questioningly.
Amy continued to chuckle until, being bidden to share the joke or shut
up, he took Clint into his confidence. Clint was forced to chuckle some
himself when he had heard Amy through, but the chuckles were followed by
earnest efforts to dissuade his friend from his proposed scheme.

"He won't stand for it, Amy," Clint protested. "He will report the lot
of you to Josh and you'll be in a peck of trouble. It would be terribly
funny, all right, but you'd better not try it."

"Funny! My friend, it would be excruciating! And I certainly am going to
have a stab at it. Let's see who will go into it. Steve Edwards--no,
Steve wouldn't, of course. Tom Hall will, I'll bet. And Roy Draper and
Harry Wescott, probably. We ought to get as many of the fellows as we
can. I wish you were in that class, Clint."

"I don't. You're a chump to try such a trick, Amy. You'll get pro for
sure. Maybe worse. I don't believe Moller can take a joke; he's too
haughty."

"Oh, rot! He will take it all right. Anyway,