o'clock!"

"You'll do nothing of the sort," said Tom stubbornly. "Don talks like a
lawyer, all right, but he's all wrong. And, anyway, I'm out of football
and I'm going to stay out for this year. I've quit training and I
probably couldn't play if Josh said I might. So that----"

"Oh, piffle," said Amy. "Quit training! Everyone knows you never quit
training, Tom. You could go out there tomorrow and play as good a game
as you ever did. Don't talk like a sick duck!"

"There's no reason why I should play, though. Pryme's putting up a bully
game----"

"Pryme is doing the best he knows how," said Tim, "but Pryme can't play
guard as you can, Tom, and he never will, and you know it! Now have a
grain of sense, won't you? Just sit tight and let us put this thing
through. There isn't a fellow in school who won't be tickled to death to
sign that petition, and I'll bet you anything you like that Josh will be
just as tickled to say yes to it. Whatever you say about Josh Fernald,
you've got to hand it to him for being fair and square, Tom."

"Josh is all right, sure. I haven't said anything against him, have I?
But I won't stand for any petition, fellows, so you might as well get
that out of your heads. Besides, my being on the team or off it isn't
going to make a half of one per cent's difference next Saturday."

There was silence in the room for a moment. Then Amy went dejectedly
back to the window-seat and threw himself on it at full length. "I think
you might, Tom," he said finally, "if only on my account!"

"Why on your account?" laughed Tom.

"Because I'm the guy that got you all into the mess, that's why. And
I've felt good and mean about it ever since. And now, when we think up a
perfectly good way to--to undo the mischief I made, you act like a mule.
Think what a relief it would be to my conscience, Tom, if you got off
pro and went back and played against Claflin!"

"I don't care a continental about your conscience, Amy. In fact I never
knew before that you had one!"

"I've got a very nice one, thanks. It's well-trained, too. It----" Amy's
voice trailed off into silence and for the next five minutes or so he
took no part in the conversation, but just laid on the cushions and
stared intently at the ceiling. Then, suddenly, he thumped his feet to
the floor and reached for his cap.

"What time is it?" he demanded.

"Most eight," said Tim. "We'd better beat it."

"What time----" began Amy. Then he stopped, pulled