Part 67

"I'll get even with him," said Dink, after a blank period.

"I suppose," said Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan, "that's what's called Finance."

And the Tennessee Shad nodded assent:

"Higher Finance, Dennis."

During the busy October week Dink found little time to vent the brewing mischief within him. The afternoons were given over to the dogged pursuit of the elusive pigskin. In the evenings he resolutely turned his back on all midnight spreads or expeditions to the protecting shadows of the woods to smoke the abhorrent cigarette, for the joy of the risk run. At nine o'clock promptly each night he dove into bed, wrapped the covers about his head and, leaving the Tennessee Shad deep in the pages of Dumas, went soaring off into lands where goals are kicked from the center of the field, winning touchdowns scored in the last minute of play and bonfires lighted for his special honor. He was only end on the scrub, eagerly learning the game; but with the intensity of his nature that territory, which each afternoon he lined up to defend, was his in sacred trust; and he resolved that the trust of his captain should not be misplaced if it lay in his power to prevent it.

However, the busy mind was not entirely inactive. With the memory of his financial disappointment came the resolve to square himself with The Roman and turn the tables on Doc Macnooder.

The opportunity to do the first came in an unexpected way.

One evening P. Lentz came in upon them in great agitation.

"Why, King," said Dennis, who was lolling around, "you're excited, very, very much excited!"

"Shut up!" said the King of the Kennedy, who was in anything but a good humor. "It's the deuce to pay. I've had a first warning."

At this every one looked grave, and Dink, the loyalist, said:

"Oh, King, how could you!"

For another warning meant banishment from the football team and all the devastation that implied.

"That would just about end us," said Dennis. "Might as well save Andover the traveling expenses."

"I know, I know!" said P. Lentz furiously. "I've had it all said to me. Beautifully expressed, too. Question is, what's to be done? It's all the fault of old Baranson. He's been down on me ever since we licked the Woodhull."

"We must think of something," said the Tennessee Shad.

"How about a doctor's certificate?"

"Rats!"

"We might get up a demonstration against Baranson."

"Lot's of good that'll do me!"

Various suggestions were offered and rejected.

"Well, King," said the Tennessee Shad at last, "I don't see there's anything to it but you'll have to buckle down and study."

"Study?" said P. Lentz. "Is that the best you can produce?"

"It seems the simplest."

"I came here for consolation," said P. Lentz, who thereupon departed angrily.

"Still, it'll come to that," said the Tennessee Shad.

"P. Lentz study?" said Finnegan contemptuously. "Can a duck whistle?"

"Then we'll have to tutor him."