Whether Lanky really did dream of the lonely tramp with the familiar face he never told. Just as likely as not he did, for he was a great fellow to make mountains out of mole-hills; and once his curiosity became excited he could not rest until it was appeased.
But when he jumped out of bed in the morning and stepped across to the window, his first thought was in connection with the beauty of the early dawn.
"It's going to be a cracking good day for the game with that scrub team!" he remarked, as he hurried to dress.
An hour later, after he had finished his breakfast, and was thinking of going out, the bell of the telephone rang. As Lanky chanced to be the only one about he took down the receiver.
"Hello!" he said, wondering if it could be Frank.
"Hello! I want to speak to Lanky Wallace, please," came a strange voice.
"Well, that's me, I guess. What is it?" demanded the boy.
"If you play that Lef Seller crowd to-day, look out for fouls! They've got it arranged to just knock several of your fellows out, so they can't play Clifford next week. I heard 'em talkin' just by the merest accident, and wanted to tell you."
"Say, that's mighty kind of you. I seem to recog-
