of his comrades. Nor could the size and shape of the envelope and
the neat, small handwriting fail to be noticed. Weir always stole off
by himself to read his daily letter, trying to escape a merry chorus of
tantalizing remarks.

"Oh! Sugar!"

"Dreamy Eyes!"

"Gawge, the pink letter has come!"

Weir's reception of these sallies earned him the name of Puff.

One morning, for some unaccountable reason, Weir did not get down-stairs
when the mail arrived. Duncan got the pink letter, scrutinized the writing
closely, and put the letter in his coat. Presently Weir came bustling down.

"Who's got the mail?" he asked, quickly.

"No letters this morning," replied some one.

"Is this Sunday?" asked Weir, rather stupidly.

"Nope. I meant no letters for you."

Weir looked blank, then stunned, then crestfallen. Duncan handed out the
pink envelope. The boys roared, and Weir strode off in high dudgeon.

That day Duncan purchased a box of pink envelopes, and being expert with
a pen, he imitated the neat handwriting and addressed pink envelopes to
every boy in the training-house. Next morning no one except Weir seemed
in a hurry to answer the postman's ring. He came in with the letters and
his jaw dropping. It so happened that his letter was the very last one,
and when he got to it the truth flashed over him. Then the peculiar
appropriateness of the nickname Puff was plainly manifest. One by one
the boys slid off their chairs to the floor, and at last Weir had to
join in the laugh on him.

Each of the boys in turn became the victim of some prank. Raymond
betrayed Ken's abhorrence of any kind of perfume, and straightway
there was a stealthy colloquy. Cheap perfume of a most penetrating
and paralyzing odor was liberally purchased. In Ken's absence from
his room all the clothing that he did not have on his back was
saturated. Then the conspirators waited for him to come up the
stoop, and from their hiding-place in a window of the second floor
they dropped an extra quart upon him.

Ken vowed vengeance that would satisfy him thrice over, and he bided
his time until he learned who had perpetrated the outrage.

One day after practice his opportunity came. Raymond, Weir, and Trace,
the guilty ones, went with Ken to the training quarters to take the
steam bath that Murray insisted upon at least once every week. It so
turned out that the four were the only players there that afternoon.
While the others were undressing, Ken bribed