ek before. Some few of the fellows, recalling
sarcastic comments overheard, were inclined to be haughty and
unforgiving, but eventually they melted. Don, now at the second
training-table, presided over by Mr. Boutelle, saw that Coach Robey's
chair was vacant, which fact bore out Tim's statement that the coach had
gone home over Sunday. But, even granting that, Don didn't approve of
Tim's celebration, for, as he very well knew, after a football victory
fellows were very likely to be carried away by their enthusiasm and to
forget such trifling things as rules and regulations. He determined to
try again to dissuade Tim after supper.

But Tim, who was in a very cheerful and expansive mood, refused to be
dissuaded. Instead, he turned the tables and begged so hard for Don to
come with him that Don finally relented. After all, there was no harm in
the excursion if they got permission and were back in hall by ten
o'clock. And it was a wonderfully pleasant, warm evening, much too fine
an evening to spend indoors, and--well, secretly, Don wanted some fun as
much as any of them, perhaps!

Permission was easily obtained and at seven they met Tom Hall and Clint
Thayer in front of Torrence. Crewe failed them, but Tim said it didn't
matter; that there were only four "Three Musketeers" anyhow! So they set
off for the village in high spirits, through a warm, fragrant,
star-lighted evening, with no settled plan of action in mind save to do
about as they liked for the succeeding three hours. Clint Thayer had a
strip of plaster across the saddle of his nose, which gave him a
strangely benign expression. Tom walked a bit stiffly and confessed to
"a peach of a shin," which probably meant something quite different from
what it suggested. Only Tim, of the three first team fellows, had
emerged unscathed, and he referred to the fact in an unpleasantly
superior manner which brought from Tom Hall the remark that it was easy
enough to get through a game without any knocks if you didn't do
anything! Whereupon Tim flicked him across the cheek with an imaginary
glove, the challenge was issued and accepted and the two fought an
exciting duel with rapiers--as imaginary as the glove--on the sidewalk,
feinting, thrusting, parrying, until Clint cried "The guard! The guard!"
and they all raced down the road to the nearest lamp-post, where Tim
insisted on looking to his wounds. To hear him tell it, he was as full
of holes as a sieve, while, on the same auth