I had to have some
hankies and ties, you know. Then I steered him up against this here
suit, and this here suit made a hit with him right away. If he could
have got into it himself he'd have walked out in it. It's sort of green
with a reddish thread wandering carelessly through it. It's some
apparel, take it from me."

"Maybe I will if it fits me," responded Don.

"Will what?"

"Take it from you."

"Gee, but you're bright! Getting wrecked's put an edge on you, sonny.
I'm afraid that suit wouldn't fit you, though, Don. You've grown about
an inch since Spring, haven't you? You're beastly fat, too."

"I am not," denied Don, good-humouredly indignant. "I've kept in strict
training all summer. What you think is fat is good hard muscle, Timmy.
Feel of that arm if you don't believe it."

"Yes, quite village-blacksmithy."

"Quite _what_?"

"Village-blacksmithy. 'The muscles of his mighty arms were strong as
iron bands,' or something like that. Get out of the way and let me wash
up."

Don retired to his dresser and passed the brushes over his brown hair
and snugged his tie up a bit. The face that looked back at him from the
mirror was not, perhaps, handsome, although it by no means merited Tim's
aspersions. There was a nice pair of dark brown eyes, rather slumberous
looking, a nose a trifle too short for perfection and a mouth a shade
too wide. But it was a good-tempered, pleasant face, on the whole,
intelligent and capable and matching well the physically capable body
below, a body of wide shoulders and well-knit muscles and a deep chest
that might have belonged to a youth of eighteen instead of seventeen.
Compared with Tim Otis, who was of the same age, Don Gilbert suffered on
only two counts--quickness and vivacity. Tim, well-muscled, possessed a
litheness that Don could never attain to, and moved, thought and spoke
far more quickly. In height Don topped his friend by almost a full inch
and was broader and bigger-boned. They were both, in spite of
dissimilarity, fine, manly fellows.

Tim, wiping his hands after ablutions, turned to survey Don with a
quizzical smile on his good-looking face. And, after a moment's
reflective regard of his chum's broad back, he broke the silence.

"Say, Don," he asked, "glad to get back?"

Don turned, while a slow smile crept over his countenance.

"_Su-u-re_," he drawled.

CHAPTER III

AMY HOLDS FORTH

BRIMFIELD ACADEMY is at Brimfield, and Brimfield is a scant thi