n
wooden chairs, and between them was the lord of the world, Mr.
Bjorken, the football coach, a large, amiable, rather religious young
man, who believed in football, foreign missions, and the Democratic
party.

"Hello! Waiting for me or the Turk?" faltered Carl, gravely shaking
hands all round.

"Just dropped up to see you for a second," said Mr. Bjorken.

"Sorry the Turk wasn't here." Carl had an ill-defined feeling that he
wanted to keep them from becoming serious as long as he could.

Ray Cowles cleared his throat. Never again would the black-haired
Adonis, blossom of the flower of Joralemon, be so old and sadly sage
as then. "We want to talk to you seriously about something--for your
own sake. You know I've always been interested in you, and Howard, and
course we're interested in you as frat brothers, too. For old
Joralemon and Plato, eh? Mr. Bjorken believes--might as well tell him
now, don't you think, Mr. Bjorken?"

The coach gave a regally gracious nod. Hitching about on the wood-box,
Carl felt the bottom drop out of his anxious stomach.

"Well, Mr. Bjorken thinks you're practically certain to make the team
next year, and maybe you may even get put in the Hamlin game for a few
minutes this year, and get your P."

"Honest?"

"Yes, if you do something for old Plato, same 's you expect her to do
something for you." Ray was quite sincere. "But not if you put the
team discipline on the bum and disgrace Omega Chi. Of course I can't
speak as an actual member of the team, but still, as a senior, I hear
things----"

"How d'you mean 'disgrace'?"

"Don't you know that because you've been getting so savage about
Frazer the whole team 's getting mad?" said the coach. "Cowles and
Griffin and I have been talking over the whole proposition. Your
boosting Frazer----"

"Look here," from Carl, "I won't crawl down on my opinion about
Frazer. Folks haven't understood him."

"Lord love you, son," soothed Howard Griffin, "we aren't trying to
change your opinion of Frazer. We're, your friends, you know. We're
proud of you for standing up for him. Only thing is, now that he's
practically fired, just tell me how it's going to help him or you or
anybody else, now, to make everybody sore by roasting them because
they can't agree with you. Boost; don't knock! Don't make everybody
think you're a crank."

"To be frank," added Mr. Bjorken, "you're just as likely to hurt
Frazer as to help him by stirring up all this bad blood