Mr. Barbour knows "prep" school life thoroughly; he understands boys; he loves football, and he knows how to write a book which holds the attention of active, healthy boys. "Left Tackle Thayer" will appeal to any boy who ever caught a punt or made a tackle.
mind waiting until I run up and wash a bit we'll eat together."
"I'd like to," answered Clint, "but I reckon I'll wash too."
He moved along with the other toward the next dormitory.
"Aren't you in Wendell?" asked Amy.
"No, this next one. Torrey, isn't it?"
"Torrence." Amy stopped and viewed him With sudden interest. "Say, what number?"
"_Well, what do you know about that_?"
"What?" Clint faltered.
"Why--why--" Amy seized his hand and shook it vigorously. "Clint, I want to congratulate you! I do, indeed!"
Clint smiled. "Thanks, Byrd, but what about?"
"Byrd?" murmured the other disappointedly. "Is that the best you can do after our long acquaintance? You--you grieve me!"
"Amory, then," laughed Clint.
"Call me Amy," begged the other. "You'll call me worse than that when you've known me longer, but for now let it be Amy."
"All right. And now, please, what am I being congratulated for?"
Amy's face became suddenly earnest and sober, "Because, my young friend,