Mr. Simkins had as much as told him
that unless a decided improvement was at once apparent some direful fate
would be his, and the instructor had a convincing way of talking and
Clint quite believed him. Consequently, of two evils Clint chose the
more necessary and dedicated that afternoon to the Iliad. The dormitory
was very quiet, for it was a fine, mild day and most of the fellows were
out-of-doors, and concentration should have been easy. But it wasn't.
Clint couldn't keep his mind on his book, try as he might. Through the
open window came sounds from the grid-irons and ball-field; shouts, the
honking of Manager Black's horn, the cries of the coaches and players,
the crack of bat and ball where the Nine was holding Fall practice;
even, now and then, the voices of the tennis players far down the field.
He tried closing the window, but that made the room hot and stuffy, and
he opened it again. Four o'clock sounded and he was still dawdling. Then
footsteps sounded on the stairs, the door of Number 13 opened and shut,
and a minute or two later the wailing of Penny Durkin's violin broke
onto the silence of the deserted dormitory. That ought to have ended
Clint's chances of study, it seemed, but, oddly enough, after he had
listened for five minutes or so, his eyes sought the page in front of
him and then--well, then it was more than an hour later, the violin was
silent and someone was knocking on his door!

Clint gazed with surprise on the pencilled notes adorning the margins of
the pages, from them to the open lexicon, from that to the pencil in
his hand. He had absolutely done five pages! And then the knock at the
door was repeated and Clint stammered "Come in!" and Tracey
Black entered.

The football manager was a slimly-built, nervous-mannered chap of
eighteen and wore glasses through which he now regarded Clint
accusingly.

"What's wrong with you, Thayer?" he demanded bruskly. "Sick?"

"Sick" repeated Clint vaguely. "No, thanks, I'm all right."

"Then why do you cut practice?" asked Black severely. "Don't you know--"
It was then that Black recalled Clint's face and remembered having met
him in Innes's room a week before. "Hello," he said in a milder tone. "I
didn't recognise you. Er--you see, Thayer, when you fellows don't show
up I have to find out what the reason is. Maybe you didn't know it, but
it's the customary thing to get permission to cut practice."

"Oh! No, I didn't know it, Black," replied Clint. "