oing to supper I'll walk along with you, fellows." Mr. Daley closed his
study door and they went out together and, as they trod the flags of the
long walk that passed the fronts of the buildings, Mr. Daley discoursed
on football with Tim while Don replied to the greetings of friends. They
parted from the instructor at the dining hall door and sought their
places at table, Don's arrival being greeted with acclaim by the other
half-dozen occupants of the board. Once more he was obliged to give an
account of himself, but this time his narrative was considered to be
sadly lacking in detail and it was not until Tim had come to his
assistance with a highly coloured if not exactly authentic history of
the train-wreck that the audience was satisfied. Don told him he was an
idiot. Tim, declining to argue the point, revenged himself by stealing a
slice of Don's bread when the latter's attention was challenged by Harry
Westcott at the farther end of the table.

Westcott, who was one of the editors of the school monthly, _The
Review_, had developed the journalistic instinct to a high degree of
late and had visions of a thrilling story in the November issue. But Don
utterly refused to pose as a hero of any sort. The best Harry could get
out of him was the acknowledgment that he had seen several persons
removed from the wreck and had helped carry one to the relief train
later. That wasn't much to go on, and, subsequently, Harry regretfully
abandoned his plan.

After supper Don and Tim walked down to the village and Don had a few
minutes of talk with the coach. Mr. Robey was sympathetic but annoyed.
Although he didn't say so in so many words he gave Don to understand
that he had failed in his duty to the school and the team in allowing
himself to become concerned in a train-wreck. He didn't explain just how
Don could have avoided it, and Don didn't think it worth while to
inquire.

"You have that hand looked after properly and regularly, Gilbert," he
said, "and watch practice until you can put on togs. Losing a week or so
is going to handicap you. No doubt about that. And I'm not making any
promises. But you keep your eyes open and maybe there'll be a place for
you when you're ready to work. It's awfully hard luck, old chap. See you
tomorrow."

Don went back to school through the warm dusk slightly cast down,
although he had previously realised that football would be beyond him
for at least a week. It is sometimes one thing to ack