ble wrong.

"Then I'll have to try, but it's hard on me, Green, you'll admit."

George hid his excitement. He knew he had passed his first examination.
He was sure he would enter college. Already he felt the confidence most
men placed in Squibs Bailly.

"Wouldn't you have taken him on anyway, Mr. Bailly?" the trainer
laughed. "Anyway, a lot of my players are first-group men. I depend on
you to turn him over in the fall for the Freshman eleven. Going to
town?"

"Come on, Morton," Bailly said, remorsefully.

Side by side the three walked through to Nassau Street and past the
campus. George said nothing, drinking in the scarcely comprehensible
talk of the others about team prospects and the appalling number of
powerful and nimble young men who would graduate the following June.

Near University Place he noticed Rogers loafing in front of a restaurant
with several other youths who wore black caps. He wondered why Rogers
started and stared at him, then turned, speaking quickly to the others.

Green went down University Place. George paced on with Bailly. In front
of the Nassau Club the tutor paused.

"I'm going in here," he said, "but you can come to my house at
eight-thirty. We'll work until ten-thirty. We'll do that every night
until your brain wrinkles a trifle. You may not have been taught that
twenty-four hours are allotted to each day. Eight for sleep. Two with
me. Two for meals. Two at the field. Two for a run in the country. That
leaves eight for study, and you'll need every minute of them. I'll give
you your schedule to-night. If you break it once I'll drop you, for
you've got to have a brain beyond the ordinary to make it wrinkle
enough."

"Thanks, Mr. Bailly. If you don't mind, what will it cost?"

Bailly considered.

"I'll have to charge you," he said at last, "twenty-five dollars, but I
can lend you most of the books."

George understood, but his pride was not hurt.

"I'll pay you in other ways."

Bailly looked at him, his emaciated face smiling all over.

"I think you will," he said with a little nod. "All right. At
eight-thirty."

He limped along the narrow cement walk and entered the club. George
started back. The group, he noticed, still loitered in front of the
restaurant. Rogers detached himself and strolled across. He was no
longer suspicious.

"You been down at the field with Mr. Green?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

"Running a little, kicking a football around."

"Trust Bailly to gu