sed to, and it was one of Amy's duties to hunt up the offenders and
threaten them with all sorts of awful fates if they didn't arise at some
unseemly hour the next morning and play off the postponed match before
Chapel. Clint went over to the courts one afternoon before practice in
the hope of seeing his room-mate perform. But Amy was dashing around
with a score-sheet in hand and the matches in progress were
not exciting.

"Who's going to win?" asked Clint when Amy had subsided long enough to
be spoken to. "Or, rather, who's going to get second place?"

"Second place? Why second place?" asked Amy suspiciously.

"Just wondered. Of course, as you're running the thing you'll naturally
get first place, Amy. I was curious to know who you'd decided on for
second man."

Amy laughed. "Well, it will probably be Holt, if he can spare enough
time from football practice to play. He's had a match with Lewis on for
two days now. They've each won a set and Holt can't play in the
afternoon and Lewis refuses to get up early enough in the morning. And
there you are!"

"Why don't you award the match to yourself by default?" inquired Clint
innocently.

"To myself? How the dickens--Oh, get out of here!"

Clint got out and as he made his way across to the second team gridiron
he heard Amy's impassioned voice behind him.

"Say, Grindell, where under the Stars and Stripes have you been? Lee has
been waiting here for you ever since two o'clock! You fellows certainly
give me a pain! Now, look here--"

Clint chuckled. "Funny," he reflected, "to get so excited about a tennis
tournament. Now, if it was football--"

Clint shook his head over the vagaries of his friend and very soon
forgot them in the task of trying to keep the troublesome Robbins where
he belonged, which, in Clint's judgment, was among the second team
substitutes. That was a glorious afternoon for the second team, for they
held the 'varsity scoreless in the first period and allowed them only
the scant consolation of a field-goal in the second. "Boutelle's
Babies," as some waggish first team man had labelled them, went off in
high feather and fancied themselves more than ever.

Clint smiled at himself all the way to his room afterwards. He had
played good football and had thrice won praise from "Boots" that
afternoon. Even Jack Innes had gone out of his way to say a good word.
He had clearly outplayed Saunders, the 'varsity left tackle, on attack
and had held his own ag