Brimfield trooped back across the field to the Row noisily triumphant. Two hours before had anyone suggested that it would be satisfied with anything less than three scores it would have derided the notion. Now however it was not only satisfied but elated. Those seven points looked large and noble, and the home team's victory was viewed as a masterful triumph. Chambers was credited with having put up a fine fight, with having a more than ordinarily powerful team, and there were some who even went so far as to declare that Claflin would show no better football than today's visitors had shown. But that was doubtless an exaggeration, and those who made it had probably forgotten those first two periods in which both teams played very ordinary football indeed. A fair analysis of the game would have shown that the two elevens, while playing somewhat different styles of football, had been very evenly matched in ability and condition, that both had been weak on defence and that neither had proved itself the possessor of an attack which could be depended on to gain consistently. What both teams had shown was a do-or-die spirit which, while extremely commendable, would not have availed against a well-rounded eleven evenly developed as to attack and defence. In other words, both Brimfield and Chambers had shown fine possibilities, but neither was yet by any means a remarkable team.

In some ways the visitors had outplayed Brimfield. Chambers' attack, especially between the twenty-five-yard lines, had been far more varied and effective. Her line, from tackle to tackle, had been stronger than her opponent's. Brimfield had been especially weak at the left of centre, and a résumé of the game showed that Chambers had made two-thirds of her line gains through Blaisdell and Saunders. Churchill, who had replaced Blaisdell in the second half, had shown up no better on defence. At the ends Brimfield had held her own, while her backs had shown up superior to Chambers'. Chambers had outpunted Brimfield an average of five yards at a kick and had placed her punts to better advantage. In generalship both teams had erred frequently and there was little to choose between them.

But all this had no present effect on Brimfield's jubilation, and the school acted as if a most notable victory had been won. When the 'varsity team came in to supper that night it received an ovation hardly second in enthusiasm to that usually accorded it after a victory over Claflin. And perhaps, after all, the team deserved it, for when all was said and done the spirit which had been shown when they had held Chambers scoreless on the four yards and again later when they had themselves worn down the defence and gained their touchdown had been of the right sort.

Clint filled four pages of his Sunday's letter the next afternoon with a glowing and detailed account of that game, and it is to be hoped that the folks at Cedar Run enjoyed the perusal of it half as much as he enjoyed writing it. That evening he and Amy dropped in at Number 14 Hensey and found a roomful of fellows in excited discussion of the game. There was a disposition on the part of some of the fellows to consider the Claflin contest as good as won, but Jack Innes was more pessimistic.

"Look here," he interrupted finally, "you fellows talk like a lot of sick ducks. I'm blessed if I see what you're so cocky about. We beat Chambers, all right, but we didn't any more than beat them, and we had to work like the very dickens to do it. And, what's more, we only kept Chambers from scoring by the biggest piece of good luck."

"Oh, piffle, Jack!" exclaimed Still. "We had them fourth down and five to go. They couldn't have made it to save their lives!"

"They only had four to go," replied Jack, "and if they'd tried anything but a child's trick they'd likely have made it. The only way we got across was by springing a delayed pass on them when they were looking for a line-plunge."

"Bet you anything you like we could have gone straight through for that touchdown." said Still. "We had the ball on their four yards and it was only third down. Harris or Kendall could have torn that four yards off easily."

"That's your opinion," replied Jack drily. "As I remember it, though, you were not on at the time. We knew mighty well we couldn't get that four yards by playing the line. If you don't believe me, ask Robey. The first thing he said afterwards was that he was afraid we were going to send Harris at centre on that last play and that if we had we'd never have got over."

"Oh, well, we got it, anyway," observed Tom Hall cheerfully.

"Yes, we got it," agreed Jack Innes, "but I'm telling you fellows that we only just did get it, and that we've got mighty little to crow about. Our forward line wasn't nearly as good as Chambers'. You all know that. And you ought to know that if we went in against Claflin and played the sort of football we played yesterday we'd be literally swamped!"

"But, look here, Jack," protested Tracey Black warmly, "it's only mid-season, old man. You've got to acknowledge that we're in mighty good shape for the time of year."

"I'm not knocking, Tracey. I'm giving all the fellows credit for what they did yesterday, but I don't want them to get the idea in their heads that all we've got to do is mark time from now until the big game. We've got to be at least twice as good then as we were yesterday. Besides, I don't call it the middle of the season when we've got only three games to play before Claflin. The Benton game was the mid-season game. We're on the last lap now. And," he added grimly, "we've got some work ahead of us!"

"For my part," observed Amy, who had been rather bored by the discussion, "I think the whole bunch of you played pretty rottenly."

"You do, eh?" demanded Edwards. "Suppose you tell us all about it, Amy. Give us of your wisdom, O enlightened one."

"There you go," groaned Tom Hall, "talking the way he does!"

"Oh, I don't know that I care to specify which of you was the worst," replied Amy carelessly. "Possibly it was you, Steve. You had a dandy chance once to upset the referee and you deliberately side-stepped him. If you're going to play the game, boy, play it! Don't dodge any of your duties or responsibilities."

"Oh, you be blowed," laughed Edwards. "It's the sorrow of my life, Amy, that you didn't keep on with football."

"I dare say if I had I'd have shown you fellows a few things about it," replied Amy modestly. "Theoretically, I'm something of an authority on football. When you come right down to brass tacks, it's the fellow on the side line who sees most of the game. I'm considering coaching when I leave school. Take my young friend Clint here. Clint owes a whole lot to my advice and guidance. He wouldn't be where he is today if it hadn't been for me, would you, Clint?"

"I'm on the bench just now," retorted Clint drily.

"That's where you'll stay if you listen to his ravings," said Steve Edwards, amidst general laughter.

"By the way, how is that ankle of yours, Thayer?" inquired Innes.

"Pretty nearly all right, thanks. It's my knee, though."

"Oh, is it? Say, Churchill got a peach of a black eye yesterday. Seen it!"

"Rather!" replied Freer. "He looked positively disreputable, poor chap."

"The fun of it is," chuckled Hall, "that he had to address the Christian Association this afternoon. Were you there, Jack?"

"Yes. It wasn't so bad. He had a patch over it. Still, it was sort of funny to hear him talking about clean playing!"

Clint was given a clear bill of health the next day and went back to practice with a silk bandage around his knee. He was given light work and sat on the bench again while the second played two twelve-minute periods against the 'varsity substitutes. It seemed to him that Robbins fairly outplayed himself that afternoon, but he failed to take into consideration that his rival was pitted against substitutes or that his own state of mind was rather pessimistic. Practice ended early and after a shower and a rub Clint ambled across to Torrence feeling rather dispirited. The dormitory seemed pretty empty and lonesome as he entered the corridor. Even Penny Durkin's violin was silent, which was a most unusual condition of affairs for that hour of the afternoon. Clint slammed his door behind him, tossed his cap in the general direction of the window-seat and flopped morosely into a chair at the table. He had plenty of work to do, but after pulling a book toward him and finding his place he slammed it shut again and pushed it distastefully away. He wished Amy would come back, and looked at his watch. It was only a little after half-past four, though, and Amy, who was probably playing tennis, would scarcely stop as long as he was able to distinguish the balls. Perhaps it was the absence of the customary wailing of the next door violin that put Penny Durkin in mind. Clint had never been in Penny's room, nor ever said more than two dozen words to him except on the occasion of Penny's encounter with Harmon Dreer, but just now Clint wanted mightily to talk to someone and so he decided to see if Penny was in. At first his knock on the door of Number 13 elicited no answer, and he was turning away when a doubtful "Come in" reached him from beyond the closed portal. When he entered Penny was seated on the window-seat at the far end of the room doing something to his violin.

"Hello," he said not very graciously. Then, giving the newcomer a second glance, he added: "Oh, that you, Thayer? I thought it was Mullins. Come on in."

"Thought maybe you were dead," said Clint flippantly, "and dropped in to see."

"Dead!" questioned Penny vaguely.

"Yes, I didn't hear the violin, you know."

"Oh, I see." There was a moment's silence. Then Penny said very soberly: "It isn't me that's dead; it's the violin."

"Something gone wrong?" asked Clint, joining the other at the window and viewing the instrument solicitously. Penny nodded.

"I guess it's a goner," he muttered. "Look here." He held the violin out for Clint's inspection and the latter stared at it without seeing anything wrong until Penny sadly indicated a crack which ran the full length of the brown surface.

"Oh, I see," said Clint. "Too bad. Will it hurt it much?"

Penny viewed him in surprise. "Hurt it! Why, it spoils it! It'll never have the same tone, Thayer. It–it's just worthless now! I was pretty"–there was a catch in Penny's voice–fond of this old feller."

"That is a shame," said Clint sympathetically. "How'd you do it?"

Penny laid the violin down beside him on the window-seat and gazed at it sorrowfully a moment. Finally, "I didn't do it," he answered. "I found it like that an hour ago."

"Then–how did it happen? I suppose they're fairly easy to bust, aren't they?"

"No, they're not. Whoever cracked that had to give it a pretty good blow. You can see where it was hit."

"But who–Was it Emery, do you think?" Emery was Penny's room-mate, a quiet fifth form fellow who lived to stuff and who spent most of his waking hours in recitation room or school library. "He might have knocked it off, I dare say."

Penny shook his head. "It wasn't Gus and it wasn't the chambermaid. I asked them both. Besides, the violin was in its case leaning in the corner. No, somebody took it out and either struck it with something or hit it over the corner of the table. I think probably they hit it on the table."

Clint stared. "You mean that–that someone did it deliberately?" he gasped incredulously. "But, Durkin, no one would do a thing like that!"

"Of course, I've got another one," said Penny, "but it isn't like this. This is a Moretti and cost sixty dollars twelve years ago. You can't buy them any more. Moretti's dead, and he only made about three a year, and there aren't many anyhow."

"But, Durkin, who could have done it?"

Penny didn't answer; only picked up the violin tenderly and once more traced the almost imperceptible crack along the face of the mellowed wood.

"You don't mean"–Clint's voice dropped–don't mean Dreer?"

"I can't prove it on him," answered Penny quietly.

"But–but, oh, hang it, Durkin, even Dreer wouldn't do as mean a thing as that!" But even as he said it Clint somehow knew that Penny's suspicions were correct, and, at variance with his assertion, added wrathfully: "By Jove, he ought to be thrashed!"

"He said he'd get even," observed Penny thoughtfully.

Clint sat down on the end of the window-seat and looked frowningly at Penny. "What are you going to do?" he asked finally.

"Don't see that I can do anything except grin," was the reply. "If I charge him with it he'll deny it. No one saw him do it, I guess. He probably came in here early this afternoon. I have French at two, you know, and he probably counted on that. Gus never is in, anyhow. After he did it he put it back in the case, but I knew as soon as I'd opened it that somebody had been at it because my handkerchief was underneath, and I always spread it on top. If I beat him up he'll go to Josh and Josh will say it was an unwarrantable attack, or something, and I'll get the dickens. I can't afford that, because I'm trying hard for a Draper Scholarship and can't take chances. I guess he's evened things up all right, Thayer."

"It's perfectly rotten!" said Clint explosively. "If it was me I'd thrash him, scholarship or no scholarship! The mean pup!"

"You wouldn't if it might mean losing your chance of coming back after Christmas. I need that scholarship the worst way and I have a hunch that I'll get it if I don't get into trouble. I had it last year, you know. I haven't done very well with business this Fall; fellows haven't seemed to want things much. No, if Dreer figured out that I wouldn't go after him on account of the scholarship, he guessed about right. I'd like to"–Penny's voice trembled–"to half kill him, but–I won't!"

"Then tell faculty, Durkin. Have him fired out of school. Do–do something!"

"No use telling faculty; I can't prove it on him. Besides, I don't like the idea of playing baby. And, anyway, nothing I could do to Dreer would give me my violin back the way it was. It–it had a grand tone, Thayer! You've heard it!"

"Yes." Clint had to suppress a smile. "Yes, I've heard it often, Durkin. It did have a good tone; nice and–and clear."

"There isn't a better instrument made than a Moretti," said Penny sadly. "I can have it fixed so it won't show, but it won't ever be the same." He laid the violin back in the case very tenderly and spread the white silk handkerchief across the strings. "If you don't mind, Thayer, I'd just as leave you didn't say much about this."

"All right," agreed Clint gruffly. "Mind if I tell Amy, though?"

"Oh, no, only I–I'd rather it didn't get around. Some of the fellows don't like my playing, anyhow, you see, and they'd do a lot of talking."

Clint took his departure a minute later, after renewed regrets, and went back to his room. Amy was still absent and it was not until after supper that they met.

CHAPTER XVI
AMY TAKES A HAND

Clint told Amy about Penny's violin without mentioning the latter's suspicion. Amy listened with darkening face and when Clint had ended said: "Dreer, eh? It's the sort of thing you'd expect from him. What's Penny going to do?"

Clint explained about the scholarship and Amy nodded. "I see. I guess he's right. Dreer would be sure to go to Josh and Penny'd get what-for; and then it would be good-bye, scholarship! Unless–" Amy paused thoughtfully.

"Unless what?"

"Unless he could induce our friend Dreer to 'fess up."

"Not likely!"

"N-no, not very. Still–Well, I'm sorry for old Penny."

"Durkin asked me not to say anything about it, Amy."

"So you told me?" laughed the other.

"He said I might tell you. I guess he was afraid if the fellows learned of it they'd cheer!"

Amy chuckled. "Bet they would, too! Where's my dear old German dictionary?"

The two boys settled down at opposite sides of the table to study. After a few minutes, Clint whose thoughts still dwelt on Penny's tragedy, asked: "What made you think it was Dreer, Amy?"

"Eh? Oh, why, who else would it be? Shut up and let me get this piffle."

But a half-hour later, when Clint closed his Latin book and glanced across, Amy was leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head and a deep frown on his forehead. "All through?" asked Clint enviously.

"Through?" Amy evidently came back with an effort. "No, I wish I were. I was–thinking."

When nine o'clock sounded Clint sighed with relief and closed his book. Amy got up and walked to the window and threw himself on the seat. "Look here," he said finally, "Dreer oughtn't to be allowed to get away with that cute little stunt of his."

"No, but how–"

"I've been thinking." Amy thrust his hands into his pockets and a slow smile spread over his face. "Penny can't touch him, but that doesn't say I can't. I haven't any scholarship to lose."

"But you can't go and knock Dreer down for what he did to someone else," objected Clint.

"Why can't I, if I want to?"

"But–but they'd expel you or–or something."

"I wonder! Well, maybe they would. Yes, I guess so. Consequently, I'll knock him down on my own account–ostensibly, Clint, ostensibly."

"Don't be an ass," begged the other. "You can't do that."

Amy doubled a capable-looking fist and viewed it thoughtfully. "I think I can," he responded grimly.

"Oh, you know what I mean, Clint. You haven't any quarrel with Dreer."

"I told him that the next time he talked rot about how much better Claflin is than Brimfield I'd lick him. I gave him fair warning, and he knows I'll do it, too."

"All right, but he hasn't said anything like that, has he?"

"Not that I know of, but"–Amy's smile deepened–"something tells me he's going to! Come on over here where I won't have to shout at you." Amy patted the window-seat. "That door isn't so awfully thick, I'm thinking."

Clint obeyed, and for the next ten minutes Amy explained and Clint demurred, objected and, finally, yielded. In such manner was the plot to avenge Penny Durkin's wrongs hatched.

Two days later Harmon Dreer, looking for mail in Main Hall, came across a notice from the post office apprising him that there was a registered parcel there which would be delivered to him on presentation of this notice and satisfactory identification. Harmon frowned at the slip of paper a moment, stuffed it into his pocket and sought his nine-o'clock recitation. A half-hour later, however, having nothing to do until ten, he started off toward the village. He was half-way down the drive toward the east gate before he became visible from the window of Thursby's room on the front of Torrence. Amy, who had been seated at the window for half an hour, at once arose, crossed the hall and put his head in at the door of Number 14.

"Got him," he announced placidly.

Clint, who had cut a recitation to remain within call, and had been salving his conscience by studying his French, jumped up and seized his cap.

"He's about at the gate now," added Clint as they hurried down the stairs. "We'll give him plenty of time, because we don't want to meet him until he's half-way back. I knew he'd bite at that registered parcel." Amy chuckled. "He couldn't even wait until noon!"

Fifteen minutes later Harmon Dreer, returning from the post office, spied ahead of him, loitering in the direction of the Academy, two boys of whom one looked at the distance of a block away very much like the obnoxious Byrd. For choice, Dreer would have avoided Amy on general principles, but in this case he had no chance, for, unless he climbed a fence and took to the fields, there was no way for him to reach school without proceeding along the present road. Neither was it advisable to dawdle, for he had Greek at ten o'clock, it was now twelve minutes of and "Uncle Sim" had scant patience with tardy students. There was nothing for it but to hurry along, but the fact didn't improve his temper, which was already bad. To walk three-quarters of a mile in the expectation of getting a valuable registered parcel and then discover on opening it that it contained only two folded copies of a daily newspaper was enough to sour anyone's disposition! And that is what had happened to Dreer. Someone, of course, had played a silly joke on him, but he couldn't imagine who, nor did he for a moment connect Byrd's appearance on the scene with the registered parcel. When he reached the two ahead he saw that one was Byrd, as he had thought, and the other Thayer. They were so deeply in conversation that he was almost past before they looked up. When they did Dreer nodded.

"Hi, fellows," he murmured, without, however, decreasing his pace.

"Hi, Dreer!" responded Amy, and Thayer echoed him. "Say, you're just the fellow to settle this," Amy continued.

"Settle what?" asked Dreer, pausing unwillingly.

"Why, Clint says–By the way, you know Thayer, don't you?"

Dreer nodded and Amy went on.

"Well, Clint says that Claflin played two fellows on her team last year who weren't eligible. What were their names, Clint?"

"Ainsmith and Kenney," replied Clint unhesitatingly.

"Ainsmith!" exclaimed Dreer. "Kenney! Say, you don't know what you're talking about, Thayer!"

"That's what I told him," said Amy eagerly. "They were all right, weren't they? Clint says that last year was their first at Claflin and that they didn't have any right to play on the team."

"Rot! Ainsmith's been at Claflin two years and Kenney three. Where'd you get that dope, Thayer?"

"I heard it and I think I'm right," said Clint stubbornly.

"You can't be," persisted Amy. "Dreer went to Claflin last year, and he knows, don't you, Dreer?"

"Of course I know! Besides, Claflin doesn't do that sort of thing, Thayer. It doesn't have to! You'd better turn over; you're on your back!"

"That's what I heard," persisted Clint.

"You're wrong!" Dreer laughed contemptuously. "Whoever told you that stuff was stringing you. Well, I must get a move on. I've got a ten o'clock."

"But wait a minute," begged Amy. "You've got time enough. Let's get this settled." Dreer suddenly discovered that Amy was between him and the Academy and that he had a detaining hand on his arm.

"Can't, I tell you! I'll be late! Besides, there's nothing to settle. I know what I'm talking about. And if Thayer doesn't believe it all he's got to do is to look in the Claflin catalogue. I've got one in my room he can see any time he wants to."

"Sure, I know," said Amy soothingly. "I've told him you'd know all about it." Amy turned to Clint impatiently. "Dreer went to Claflin– how many years was it? Two, Dreer?"

"Yes; that is, one and a half. I left in the Winter."

"Of course. Well, don't you see, Clint, he'd ought to know what he's talking about?"

"Maybe he ought," replied Clint rudely, "but I don't believe he does. He says Claflin doesn't do that kind of thing. If it's such a fine school why didn't he stay there?"

"You bet it's a fine school!" returned Dreer heatedly. "It's the best there is!"

"Oh, piffle," sneered Clint. "Better than Brimfield, I suppose?"

"Better than–Say, you make me laugh! There isn't any comparison. Claflin's got it all over this hole every way you look!" Dreer paused suddenly and cast a doubtful look at Amy. But for once Amy seemed unconcerned by such sentiment. His smile even seemed approving! Dreer warmed to his subject. "Of course, you fellows haven't been anywhere else and think Brimfield's quite a school. That's all right. But I happen to have gone to Claflin and I know the difference between a real school and a second-rate imitation like this! Brimfield's a regular hole, fellows, believe me! Gee, I must get on!"

"I wouldn't hurry," said Amy. Something in his tone caught Dreer's attention and he glanced around apprehensively to find Amy removing his coat.

"Wha–what do you mean, you wouldn't hurry?" he asked uneasily.

Amy hung his coat on a paling and placed his cap on top. Then he tugged his belt in another hole. And all the time he smiled quite pleasantly. Dreer moved backward toward the curb, but found Clint barring his way. His anxious gaze searched the road for help, but in each direction it was empty. He laughed nervously.

"What's the joke?" he asked.

"No joke at all, Dreer," replied Amy. "I gave you fair warning that the next time you ran down the school I'd beat you. If I were you, Dreer, I'd take off my coat."

"You dare touch me and it'll be mighty bad for you, Byrd! I'm not going to fight you, and you can't make me."

"Suit yourself about that," replied Amy, stepping toward him.

Dreer thought of flight, but it looked hopeless. Besides, a remnant of pride counselled him to bluster it out rather than run away. He laughed, not very successfully. "Two against one, eh? Wait till fellows hear about it! You won't dare show your faces, you two thugs!" Again his gaze travelled along the empty, sunlit road. "Anyway, I didn't say anything I didn't have a right to say. You asked me what I thought and I told you. You–you made me say it!"

"I did, Dreer!" Amy shook his head gently. "Think again. Surely, I didn't do that?"

"Well, he did," faltered Dreer. "And you put him up to it, I'll bet! Don't you touch me, Byrd!"

"Put your hands up!"

"I won't! You're bullies! Two against one isn't fair!"

"Thayer won't touch you. I'll attend to you alone and unaided, Dreer. Fair warning!"

"Keep away from me! You'd better! Don't you–"

Dreer picked himself up slowly from the sidewalk. There was a frightened look in his eyes.

"I don't see what you're doing this for," he half whimpered. "I haven't done anything to you."

"You spoke disrespectfully of the school, Dreer. I told you you mustn't. I'm terribly fond of the dear old school and it hurts me to hear it maligned. And then there's Durkin's violin, Dreer. Perhaps you haven't heard about that."

A gleam of comprehension flashed in the boy's face and he backed up against the fence. "I don't know anything about any violin," he muttered.

"Of course you don't, Dreer," replied Amy cheerfully. "I'm just telling you about it. Someone went into his room day before yesterday and smashed it. Isn't that a shame? You wouldn't do a thing like that, would you?"

"I didn't!" whined Dreer. "You haven't any right to blame me for it!"

"Who's blaming you for it? Perish the thought, Dreer! I'm just telling you about it."

"Then you let me go, Byrd! I didn't hurt his old fiddle!"

"Tut, tut! You mustn't think I'm knocking you around on account of that. Oh dear, no! I wouldn't have any right to do that, Dreer. What I'm doing is punishing you for speaking disrespectfully of our dear old Alma Mater. Look out for your face, Dreer!"

Dreer put up a half-hearted defence then, and for a moment the two boys circled about on the dusty sidewalk, Dreer pale and plainly scared, Amy smiling and deliberate. Then came a feint at Dreer's body, a lowering of his guard and a quick out-thrust of Amy's left fist. The blow landed on Dreer's cheek and he went staggering backward against the palings. He was too frightened to cry out. With a hand pressed to his bleeding cheek, he stared dumbly at Amy, trembling and panting. Clint, who had watched proceedings from a few yards away, felt sorry for the boy.

"That's enough, Amy," he said. "He can't fight."

"Oh, yes, he can," returned Amy sternly. "He can fight when the other fellow's smaller than he is, can't you, Dreer? And he's a very skilful arm-twister, too. I haven't got him warmed up yet, that's all. We've only started, haven't we, Dreer?"

"You–you brute!" muttered Dreer. "What do you want me to do? I–I'll do anything you say, Byrd."

"Will you? Then come away from that fence so I can knock you over again, you sneak!"

"He's had enough, Amy," pleaded Clint.

"Enough? Oh, no, he hasn't! When he's had enough he's going to tell us who smashed Durkin's violin, aren't you, Dreer? And he's going to tell us that he's been awfully mistaken in his estimate of Brimfield Academy, too. Why, he's going to just love the dear old school before I get through with him, Clint!"

"I–I tell you I didn't touch his violin," cried Dreer with a brief flash of defiance.

"There! You see?" said Amy. "His memory is still weak, Clint. Come away from the fence, Dreer."

"I won't! Let me alone! You've struck me twice, Byrd. That–that ought to be enough." He ended with a sniffle.

"Sorry," said Amy, "but I've got to arouse that memory of yours. If you won't come away from there, why–"

"Hello, hello!" said a voice. "What's the trouble, fellows?"

The three boys started. A few yards away, leaning on his cane, stood a tall man of twenty-three or four years, a mildly surprised expression on his good-looking face.