partly disrobed that they had no towels.

"I'm going to ask someone to lend me one," said Steve. "You can use an
end of it if I get it. I'm going to have that shower or bust."

A cheerful-faced youth draped in a frayed bathrobe came up at that
moment and Steve sought counsel of him.

"Towel? I'd lend you one in a minute, but mine are all soiled. You can
see for yourself." He nodded toward the open door of his locker on the
floor of which lay a pile of what were evidently bath towels. "I forgot
to send them to the wash before I went away in the spring. If you ask
Danny he might let you have one. I guess he's around somewhere."

Steve found the trainer leaning against the doorway of the rubbing room.
"'Tis Sam Edwards!" greeted Danny. "An' how did it go to-day, me boy?"

"Pretty good, thanks. Could you lend me a couple of towels,
Mister--er--Danny?"

"I doubt have I got any, but I'll look an' see," and Danny disappeared
into the room behind him.

"Here you are, Sam," he said in a moment. "They're small but select.
Fetch 'em back when you're through with 'em, if you please. They're
school property, d'ye mind, and it's me that's answerable for them."

Steve promised faithfully to restore them and bore them back in triumph
to where Tom had paused in his undressing to await the result of the
errand. A minute later they were puffing and blowing in adjoining baths,
with the icy-cold water raining down on their glowing bodies. A brisk
drying with the borrowed towels, a return to their uninviting togs and
they were ready to be off. Steve couldn't find Danny, but he left the
towels on the table in the rubbing room and he and Tom climbed the
stairs again. In the hall above there was a large notice board and Tom
stopped to glance at some of the announcements pinned against it.

"Here a minute, Steve," he said. "Look at this." He laid a finger on a
square of paper which bore in almost illegible writing this remarkable
notice: "What Will You Give? Dirt Cheap! Terms Cash! One fine oak Morris
chair, good as new. Three cushions, very pretty. One pair of skates.
Eight phonograph records. Large assortment of bric-a-brac. Any fair
offer takes them! Call early and avoid disappointment. Durkin, 13
Torrence."

"Is it a joke?" asked Steve doubtfully.

"No, there are lots of them, see." Sure enough, the board held fully a
dozen similar announcements, although the others were not couched in
such breezy language. There were chairs, c