would have the effect of causing a most unpleasant affair. He felt that there was something wrong somewhere.
It was Frank Simpson who saved the day. The big Californian had seen at a distance what took place, and had guessed what was going on. Also he had overheard a little of the conversation, and he was able to fill in the rest.
He sauntered slowly up to the trio, and, with an air of good fellowship, which he assumed for the occasion, he clapped Langridge lightly on the back.
"Hello, old man!" he exclaimed. "We'll meet soon on the gridiron, I hope."
"Yes," answered Langridge stiffly, turning aside. "Miss Clinton, will you" He paused suggestively.
"No!" whispered Tom. "Your name never got on her card right."
"Take care!" almost hissed Langridge.
"No, it is you who must take care!" broke in Simpson, leaning forward as if he was talking on ordinary topics to the three. The crowd saw, and taking the very view of the little gathering that the big Californian wished them to, they turned aside. "It is you who must take care, Mr. Langridge," went on Frank. "I saw you write your name on Miss Clinton's card."
"What!" The bully's eyes blazed.
