CHAPTER XXXV
THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN
What a crowd there was! It seemed to surge all over the grandstands,hiding the boards from sight, so that the structure looked like a solidmass of human beings. Old men there were, and elderly ladies, too, andyoung men--and maidens--girls, girls, girls, everywhere, their prettyhats and bright wraps making the otherwise dull and cloudy day seem likea fairy garden.
Nearly everyone from Fairview Institute was on hand, and the girls sattogether, chanting songs--sometimes for Randall and sometimes for BoxerHall. The former contingent was led by the friends of our heroes, MissTyler, Miss Harrison and Miss Clinton.
It was almost time for the game to start, and Bean Perkins had led hiscrowd of shouters, cheerers and singers in various calls and melodies.Out on the field were the players, nearly two score of them, for eachcollege had plenty of substitutes.
"It's going to be a game for blood, all right," murmured Tom, who,standing with his three chums, watched Boxer Hall at practice. "Lookhow they get into play on the jump."
"Oh, we can do it, too," declared Phil.
"They've got some good kickers," announced Sid, critically.
"So have we," fired back Phil, who seemed to resent any implied slightof the Randall team.
"Have you heard where Langridge is going to play?" asked Frank Simpson.
"Against me, someone said," replied Tom. "He's been shifted to rightend, I hear, and I wish he wasn't. There'll be some scrapping, sure."
"Don't let him get your goat," advised Phil.
Speculation as to the position of the players was soon set at rest, whenthe list was announced This was the lineup.
BOXER HALL POSITION RANDALL
Ford Enderby _Left end_ Tom Parsons Dave Ogden _Left tackle_ Bert Bascome George Stoddard _Left guard_ Frank Simpson Paul Davenport _Centre_ Holly Cross Lynn Railings _Right guard_ Billy Housenlager Ed Dwight _Right tackle_ Dan Woodhouse Fred Langridge _Right end_ Jerry Jackson Tom Miller _Quarter-back_ Phil Clinton Fred Cooper _Right half-back_ Pete Backus Charles Baker _Left half-back_ Sid Henderson William Cook _Full-back_ Joe Jackson
It was stated that two halves of thirty minutes each would be played,and it was also known that some of the old-time rules, as regarded play,would be used, for the Tonaka Lake League had their own ideas on thissubject.
The crowd continued to increase, and when Captain Miller, of Boxer Hall,and Captain Woodhouse, of Randall, met for a conference, the stands hadoverflowed into the field, where the officers had trouble keeping thecrowd back of the ropes.
Boxer won the toss, and there was a momentary feeling of disappointmentat this, but it soon passed away, for there was no wind, and littleadvantage to be gained by selecting a goal.
"I'm glad we've got 'em on our own grounds," remarked Tom, in a lowvoice.
"Yes, that's one advantage," agreed Phil. "Oh, if we can only win, oldman--if we only can! Then Randall will come into her own again, and downall her enemies."
"We're _going_ to win," said Tom, simply, as if that settled it.
Boxer elected to defend the south goal, which gave the ball to Randallto be kicked off. Holly Cross topped it on a little mound of dirt. Helooked to Kindlings for a confirmatory nod, which the captain gave,after a glance at his men. The Boxer Halls were on the alert. Thewhistle of the referee blew, and Holly's toe made a dent in the newyellow ball. Away it sailed far into Boxer's territory. Langridge madethe catch, and started over the chalk marks with speed, protected bygood interference. But with a fierceness which it seemed that nothingcould stop, Tom Parsons circled in, and made one of the best tackles ofhis career, as he brought his old enemy down with a thud to the ground,on Boxer's thirty-eight yard line.
"Now the real battle begins," murmured Tom, as he ran to his place,while the opponents of Randall lined up, the quarter-back singing outhis signal.
Fred Cooper was given the ball, and made a try at getting aroundRandall's right end, but Jerry Jackson and his support were right there,and Cooper was nailed, after a gain of about four yards. It was asplendid defense on the part of Randall, and her cohorts were glad, forBoxer had some big players that year, and there was fear that she wouldsmash through. In fact, so fearful was Captain Miller after that firsttry that he called for a kick.
It was well done, and Cook sent the pigskin sailing far back towardRandall's goal posts. Joe Jackson caught it, and began a run whichbrought the crowd to its feet as if by magic, while thousands of throatsyelled encouragement, and Bean Perkins broke his cane to slivers, inhis excitement. Past man after man of the Boxer team did Joe dodge,until he was nearly in the centre of the field before he was downed.
"Now's our chance," murmured Phil, as he knelt to take the pigskin whenHolly should snap it back.
Phil signaled for Sid Henderson to take the ball, and take it Sid did,smashing through the Boxer line for five yards. Joe Jackson was nextcalled upon, and proved a good ground-gainer. Then came the turn of PeteBackus, who got into action on the jump. In less than three minutes ofplay Randall had ripped out seventeen yards through the hardest sort ofa defense, and this exhibition of skill, pluck and line-smashing was arevelation to those who had feared for their favorite college. It wasdisheartening to Boxer Hall. Randall had had no need to kick.
Another signal came, and Frank Simpson, with a tremendous heave, openedup a big hole for Joe Jackson to dart through. Then, and not until then,did Boxer prove that she could hold, for, in response to the franticappeals of her captain, his men stopped Joe, after a small gain.
Then came some kicking, and Boxer had the ball again. With desperateenergy she began at her smashing tactics once more, and to suchadvantage that she was advancing the leather well up the field.Something seemed to be the matter with Randall. She was giving way--aslump.
"Hold! hold! Hold 'em!" pleaded Dan Woodhouse.
His men braced, but either they did not work together, or they braced atthe wrong moment, for on came Boxer Hall. Right up the field they went,until they were only twenty yards away from the Randall goal line.
There were glum feelings in the hearts of the supporters of the yellowand maroon, and wild, delirious joy in the ranks of the enemies, for thestands were rioting with cheers and songs, while above all came thedeep-throated demand for:
"Touchdown! Touchdown!"
"And they'll get it, too, if we don't stop 'em," thought Tom, indespair. He had been playing well, and taking care of all the men whocame his way, but that was all he could do.
Then Randall braced, and, in the nick of time, and held to suchadvantage that Boxer had to kick. Joe Jackson caught the ball, and wasgathering himself for a run back, when Langridge, who had broken throughwith incredible swiftness, tackled him, almost in the very spot wherethe Randall full-back had grabbed the pigskin. Langridge and Joe wentdown in a heap, and how it happened, Joe, with tears in his eyes,later, could not explain. But the leather rolled away from him.
Like a flash Langridge was up, had picked the ball from the ground, andamid a perfect pandemonium of yells, was sprinting for Randall's goal,with not a man between him and the last chalk mark.
It was almost a foregone conclusion that he would touch down the ball,and he did, though Tom sprinted after him, with such running as he hadseldom done before. But to no avail.
To the accompaniment of a whirlwind of cheers, Langridge made the score,and then calmly sat on the ball, while the others rushed at him. But hewas safe from attack.
Oh, the bitterness in the hearts of the Randall lads! It was as gall andwormwood to them, while they lined up behind their goal posts andwatched Lynn Railings kick the goal.
"Six to nothing against us," murmured Phil, with a sob in his throat."Oh, fellows----"
He could not go on, but walked silently back to the middle of the field.
&nbs
p; "Now, boys, give 'em the 'Wallop' song!" cried Bean Perkins, with ajoyousness that was only assumed, and the strains of that jolly airwelled out over the field, mingling with the triumphant battle cries ofBoxer.
But the Randall players heard, and it put some heart into them. Thegame went on, with slight gains on either side, for ten minutes more.There were forward passes and on-side kicks tried, and an exchange ofpunts. Once Randall was penalized for holding, and twice Boxer had theball taken from her for off-side plays. The leather was kept near themiddle of the field, and it was evident that a most stubborn battlewould mark the remainder of the championship game. Yet the advantage offirst scoring was with Boxer, and it gave them additional strength, itseemed.
"Fellows, we _must_ get a touchdown!" declared Kindlings, with tears inhis eyes, when time was called, as Charles Baker was knocked out, andTed Sanders went in as the Boxer left half.
Randall had the ball, and with the energy of despair, was rushing itdown the field. The loss of Baker, who was one of the mainstays of theBoxer team, seemed to affect Randall's opponents, for they appeared tocrumple under the smashing attack directed at them. In turn, Sid, Peteand Joe rushed through the holes torn for them. They seemed resistless,and the sight brought forth a round of cheers.
"Now for the 'Conquer or Die' song," called Bean, hoarsely, leaping tohis feet and waving his battered cane and the tattered ribbons. "Now'sthe time. We need that touchdown they're going to get!"
His voice carried to the struggling players, for there was a moment ofsilence. Then, as the grand Latin strains broke forth, they seemed toelectrify Tom and his chums. The players fairly jumped at the opposingline.
Within two yards of the goal chalk mark Pete Backus was given the ball.With tremendous strength, the big Californian opened a hole for him.Pete slipped through, and staggered forward. Cook, the Boxer full, triedto tackle him, and did get him down, but, with a wiggle and a squirm,Pete was free, and the next instant had made the touchdown.
Randall's supporters went wild with delight, and Bean could not shoutfor some time after the fearful and weird yells he let loose. He had totake some throat lozenges to relieve the strain.
There was some disappointment when the goal was missed, leaving thescore six to five, in favor of Boxer. But Randall felt that she now hadthe measure of her opponents.
The rest of the half was finished, with neither side scoring again, andthen came a period of much-needed rest, for the lads had played withfierce energy.
The opening of the second half was rather slow. The ball changed handsseveral times, and it seemed as if both sides were playing warily for anopening.
"Fellows, we've just _got_ to get another touchdown," declared Kindlings."That one point may beat us."
"We'll get it," asserted Phil, when time was being taken out to enableSid Henderson to get back his wind, for he had been knocked out by afierce tackle.
Then the battle was resumed. Up to now, Tom and his old enemy, Langridge,had not clashed much, though Langridge kept up a running fire oflow-voiced, insulting talk against Tom, to which our hero did not reply.
"He's only trying to get my goat," Tom explained to Frank Simpson. Thencame a play around Tom's end, when Boxer had the ball, and Langridgedeliberately punched his opponent. Like a flash, Tom drew back his armto return the blow, and then he realized that he was in the game, and hegot after the man with the ball. Following the scrimmage, he said, withquiet determination:
"Langridge, if you do that again, I'll smash you in the eye," and fromthe manner of saying it, Langridge knew he would carry it out.Thereafter he was more careful.
Try as Randall did, she could not seem to get the ball near enough tomake an attempt for a field goal, or to rush it over for a touchdown. Onthe other hand, Boxer was equally unable to make the needful gains.There was much kicking, and the time was rapidly drawing to a close.
"We've _got_ to do it! We've _got_ to do it! We've _got_ to do it!" saidthe captain over and over again. He begged and pleaded with his men. Thecoach urged them in all the terms of which he was master.
There were but two minutes more of play, and Randall had the ball. Itwas within twenty-five yards of the Boxer goal, and one attempt to rushit through guard and tackle had resulted in only a little gain.
It was a critical moment, for on the next few plays depended thechampionship of the league. Phil was doing some rapid thinking. Sid hadjust had the ball, and had failed to gain. In fact, the plucky lefthalf-back had not fully recovered from the effects of a fierce tackle.
"They won't expect him to come at them again," thought Phil. "But Iwonder if old Sid can do it. I'm going to try him."
The quarter-back was rattling off the signal. Somewhat to his surprise,Sid heard himself called upon for another trial. He almost resented it,for he was very weary, and his ears were buzzing from weakness.
And then he heard that song--the song that always seemed to nerveRandall to a last effort. The Latin words came sweetly over the fieldfrom the cohorts on the big stand--"_Aut Vincere, Aut Mori!_"--"EitherWe Conquer, or We Die!"
"Might as well die, as to be defeated," thought Sid, bitterly. The ballcame back to him. Like a flash he was in motion. The big Californian, ashe had done before several times in the game, opened a hole so fiercelythat the opposing players seemed to shrink away from him.
Forward leaped Sid, with all the power of despair. Forward! Forward!
"There! See!" cried Bean Perkins. "He's through the line! He's going tomake a touchdown--the winning touchdown!"
Sid _was_ through. Staggering and weak, but through. Between him and thecoveted goal line now was but one player--the Boxer full-back--WilliamCook. He crouched, waiting for Sid, but there were few better dodgersthan this same Sid. On he came, wondering if his wind and legs wouldhold out for the race he had yet to run--a race with glory at theend--or bitter defeat on the way.
Cook was opening and shutting his hands, in eager anticipation ofgrasping Sid. His jaw was set, his eyes gleamed. On came the half-back,gathering momentum with every stride, until, just as Cook thought he hadhim, Sid dodged to one side, and kept on. There was now a clear fieldahead of him, and he was urged forward by the frantic yells of hisfellow players and the wild, shouting crowds on the stands. Not a personwas seated. They were all standing up, swaying, yelling, imploring, orpraying, that Sid would keep on--or fall or be captured before hecrossed that magical white line.
Sid kept on. Then there came a different yell. It was from the Boxerstands. Tom, picking himself out from a heap of players, saw Langridgesprinting after Sid. And how the former bully of Randall did run!
"Oh, Sid! Go on! Go on!" implored Tom, in a whisper, as if the youthcould hear him.
And Sid went on. After him, fiercely, came Langridge. The distancebetween them lessened. Sid was staggering. His brain was reeling. Hislegs tottered. The ball seemed about to slip from his grasp, and hefound himself talking to it, as to a thing alive.
"Stay there, now--stay there--don't fall out. And--and you legs--don'tyou give way--don't you do it! Keep on, old man, keep on! You can do it!You can do it!"
Thus Sid muttered to himself. He heard the patter of the running feetbehind him. He did not look to see who was coming--he dared not. He feltthat if he took his eyes off the last white line ahead of him that hewould stagger and fall.
The line was like the crystal globe that hypnotizes one. It held hisgaze.
On, and on, and on----
Sid fell in a heap. His breath left him. There was a darkness beforehim. Down he went heavily.
But, oh, what a shout came dimly to his ears! What a wild riot of cries!He tried to look down and see whether he had crossed the line before hestumbled, but he could only see the brown earth and green grass. Heheard someone still running after him. He lifted his head. There, justbefore him, was the goal line.
With the energy of despair, he raised the ball in his arms, and placedit over the chalk mark, holding it there with all his remainingstrength, when someone threw himse
lf fiercely upon him.
It was Langridge, eager, wrathful and almost beside himself with rage.But he was too late. The ball was well over the last line, and, knowingfrom the attitude of the Boxer player that it _was_ there, the greatthrong of Randall men and women, young men and maidens, joined in onegreat cry:
"Touchdown! Touchdown!"
It was--the winning touchdown, for, as the other players, some fearful,some hoping, came rushing up, the final whistle blew, ending thecontest that had resulted in championship for Randall.
And then, welling over the field once more, came softly the song:"Either We Conquer, or We Die!"
* * * * *
There were bonfires that night at Randall--bonfires in which thefootball suits were burned, for the eleven broke training in a blaze ofglory. Also there were feastings, for there was no ban on eating now.And, likewise, there was much rejoicing. For was not Randall championagain? Had not her loyal sons again won a victory on the gridiron?Therefore, let the gladness go on!
Sid was the lion of the hour. It was his great run--his struggle againstlong odds--that had won the big game, and he was carried on the shouldersof his mates, and his name was heralded in song and story.
"Oh, it was great, old man, great!" cried Tom, as they walked togetherfrom the gymnasium, where there had been a sort of impromptu joy-meetingafter the feast.
"Nothing like it ever seen at Randall," declared Phil.
"Nothing like it ever seen _anywhere_," put in the big Californian.
"I never could have done it, if you hadn't opened the hole for me,Frank," spoke Sid, gratefully.
"I just had to open that hole," was the retort. "I felt that I'd tearthose fellows limb from limb if they didn't give way, and----"
"They did," finished Phil, with a laugh.
They had met their girl friends after the game, and had received theircongratulations. Then had come a happy time, walking with them, then thefeasting, and now our friends were on their way to their room.
"There are only two things that are bothering me," remarked Tom,thoughtfully.
"What's that--Langridge?" asked Phil. "Say, he must have felt sick whenhe got to where Sid was, and saw that it was a touchdown, all right! Didhe hurt you, Sid?"
"Well, he knocked the wind out of me--that is, what there was left toknock. But I guess he didn't mean to."
"Oh, he meant it, all right," declared Tom. "But I wasn't thinking ofLangridge. I was going to say that the two things that bothered me wasthe mystery of the chair and the clock."
"That's so," came from Phil. "I wonder who that fellow was, and how thedeed came to be in his chair?"
"We must tell Prexy about it," decided Sid. "It may have a bearing onthe case."
They were deep in a discussion of possible explanations of the variousproblems that vexed them, when they turned down the corridor that led totheir room. There was so much noise going on out on the campus--shoutsand yells, and the students circling about the bonfires--that thefootsteps of our friends made no sound. That is why they were close upona figure crouched in front of their door before the kneeling one wasaware of their presence. Then the figure started away. But Phil was tooquick, and grabbed it.
"I've caught you!" cried the quarter-back. "So you sneaked back, to seeif you could find the deed, eh?" for he thought he had the stranger whohad before visited them.
"By Jove, it's Lenton!" cried Tom, catching a glimpse of the face of thecaptive. And indeed it was the odd student who was such an expert withthe file.
"And he's got a false key!" added Sid, as he saw a bit of brass in thelad's hand. "Here, you little shrimp, what do you mean?" and Sid shookthe lad.
"I--please--I didn't mean anything," was the stammering answer.
"Weren't you trying to get into our room?" demanded Tom.
"Yes, I--I was, but----"
"Where's our chair?" came fiercely from Phil.
"I haven't got it! I never had it."
"Did you take our clock, and afterward exchange it?" asked Tom,determined to solve part of the mystery, if not all.
"Yes, I had it, and I--I was coming back to borrow it again," answeredthe odd student.
"Borrow it?" repeated Sid.
"Yes, that's all I did with your alarm clock. Oh, fellows, I didn't meananything wrong. I'll tell you all about it."
"You'd better," said Phil, keeping a hold of the intruder's collar."Come inside."
They entered the room, and Tom locked the door.
"Well?" asked Phil, suggestively, as he pointed out a chair to Lenton."We're ready to hear you."
"I borrowed your clock to take a wheel out," said the odd student,simply.
"To take a wheel out?" repeated Sid, in amazement.
"Yes. In an alarm clock there is a certain size cog wheel that I couldfind nowhere else. Fellows, I am making a new kind of static electricmachine, and I needed a certain sized wheel. I tried everywhere to getone, and I couldn't afford to pay for having one made. Then, one day, Ihappened to see your alarm clock in here. I thought, perhaps, that itwould have in it the wheel I wanted. I made a false key, sneaked in,and took the clock out. Then I happened to think you'd want a timepiece,so I brought in that mahogany one--it was a present to me from a friendin Chicago, but I didn't care for it. The wheels weren't right."
"I guess _you've_ got wheels," murmured Phil.
"Your alarm clock had just the right size wheel in it," went on the oddstudent, "so I took it out, and made my electrical machine. Then I madeanother wheel that would answer as well in your clock, and I made theexchange back again. Now my electrical machine is broken, and I needanother wheel from your clock, and----"
"You were going to sneak in again and take it," broke in Sid.
"Yes. I made another false key, for I accidentally left the first one inthe door when you came and surprised me, the day I brought your clockback."
"Why didn't you _ask_ us for the clock?" inquired Tom.
"Because I was afraid you wouldn't let me take it. I heard the fellowssay how fond you were of it. I thought you wouldn't miss a wheel fromit, if I gave you a better clock."
"_Another_ one--not a _better_," insisted Phil. "But did you drop aletter in here one day?"
"Yes, I did, to Bert Bascome, and I wondered what had become of it."
"We found it," said Tom. "Was there something in it about a clock?"
"Yes, I bought an expensive alarm clock from Bert, but I wrote rathersharply to tell him it wasn't any good. It had the wrong kind of wheels.Bascome was mad at me for not keeping it to pay off some of the money heowes me. That's all there is to tell."
"And it's enough," declared Sid. "I guess that explains everything.Bascome's denial was justified."
"And we thought Langridge had a hand in it," went on Phil. "But there isstill the chair and deed to be explained."
"I don't know anything about the chair," insisted Lenton, and theybelieved him. "But could I have----" he hesitated.
"Do you want the clock?" asked Tom.
"I--I just want to take out one of the wheels. I'll put in another justas good," promised Lenton, eagerly. And they let him have the batteredtimepiece.
"Now, if we could only explain the chair matter as easily, all would bewell," commented Phil, when Lenton had gone.
They had not long to wait. A little later a message summoned them to theoffice of Dr. Churchill. The president greeted them pleasantly.
"I have just had the lawyers here," he said, "and they state that thequit-claim deed which you boys found is genuine, and the very one thatwas missing. It brings to an end the suit against the college, and Iwish to once more thank you lads. The prohibition of silence is nowremoved, and you are at liberty to tell your friends the good news."
"But you have not heard it all," said Tom, and he told about the visitof the excited stranger just before the game.
"I think I can explain that," went on the president, with a smile, "andalso tell you where to find your chair."
"Can you?" cried the three, eagerly.
"Your visitor was a Mr. James Lawson," continued Dr. Churchill, "and hewas the one who made the claim against the college, being a distant heirof Simon Hess. Without the quit-claim deed being available to us, he wasthe ostensible owner of our property. How he got possession of the deedhe would not say, though the lawyers and I questioned him."
"Was he here?" asked Phil.
"Yes, your actions evidently frightened him, for he called a littlewhile ago to say that he gave up all claims to the land. He stated thathe thought he had a right to the deed."
"How did it get in the old chair?" asked Tom.
"Being an heir of Simon Hess," went on the doctor, "this Mr. Lawson hadsome of the old family furniture. Among the pieces was a chair, similarto yours, which I understand was also a Hess heirloom. Your chair wastaken by a man whom we engaged temporarily to do some janitor work. Hesold it to a second-hand dealer, and I have only to-night learned hisname and address. The janitor was dismissed shortly after being hired,as it was found that he was dishonest. To-day I received a letter fromhim, begging forgiveness, and telling about the chair he sold from yourroom. But he did not mention a clock, for I understand you also lost atimepiece."
"Oh, we have that back," said Tom. "But about the chair?"
"I'll come to that, and tell you where to get yours. It seems that Mr.Lawson retained possession of the quit-claim deed, which he would nottell how he obtained.
"One night, when looking it over in his home, near Rosedale, he wasinterrupted by an unexpected visitor. Not wishing his caller to see thedeed, he slipped it under the lining of the seat of the old chair.Business matters came up immediately afterward, and he went out,forgetting about the document, which was left in the seat.
"The next day his wife, who liked new instead of old furniture, soldthe old armchair to a second-hand dealer, deed and all, though, ofcourse, she did not know of the paper. Naturally, when Mr. Lawson heardof his loss, he was frantic, for on the deed his whole claim depended.He intended to destroy the document to prevent it ever being found byanyone so that it would benefit Randall. But he reckoned without fate,which stepped in most opportunely. He sought the old chair, but it hadgone from dealer to dealer, until finally a Mr. Rosenkranz got it.
"You obtained it from him just before Mr. Lawson called to claim hisfurniture, and later he came on to the college. The rest fits in withwhat you already know."
"Well, wouldn't that----" began Tom, and then he happened to rememberthat he was in the president's presence, and he stopped.
"Your old chair is at this place," went on Dr. Churchill, giving theaddress of a small dealer in a nearby city. "You may go and get it anytime you like," the good doctor concluded. "And now I think that thisclears up the mystery. But, before you go, let me congratulate you onthe magnificent victory of this afternoon. The nine did exceedinglywell."
The president smiled benignly, unconscious of the "break" he had made incalling the eleven a "nine," and the boys, joyful over the prospect ofan early recovery of their chair, left the office. At last the mysterywas ended.
There was more rejoicing in Randall when the facts regarding thequit-claim deed became known, and the next day formal notice of thewithdrawal of the suit was filed. There was some talk about prosecutingMr. Lawson, but there was a doubt as to his real criminality, so nothingwas done.
And thus ended the troubles of Randall, not only from a legal standpoint,but also from an athletic, for her title to the championship of thegridiron was firmly established. But there were other battles of thefield to come, and those who are interested in them may read thereof inthe next volume of the series, to be called: "For the Honor of Randall; aStory of College Athletics."
"They look like twins, don't they?" remarked Tom, a few evenings later,when, having recovered their own chair, it was placed beside the oneleft by Mr. Lawson, for he did not come to claim it.
"Yes, if we had two more, we'd have a collection, and there'd be oneapiece," added Phil.
"Oh, the sofa's good enough for me," came from Sid. "I hope nobodyborrows that to take out a wheel, or some of the stuffing."
"And the clock ticks as naturally as it always did," commented Phil, ashe took a seat in one of the easy chairs, for Lenton had returned thetimepiece.
"And they lived happily forever after," murmured Tom, now half asleep,for it was warm in the room. "I say, are you fellows going to the nextFairview frat. dance?"
"Are we? Wild horses can't hold us back!" cried Sid, with energy.
"Good!" murmured Tom, still more sleepily, and then, as the chums lapsedinto silence, there sounded the loud and insistent ticking of thebattered alarm clock.
THE END