"What's the main trouble?" asked Tom.
"Oh, nothing in particular; but I guess I'm thinking of too many other things. There's that little run-in I had with Langridge, seeing the game to-day, worrying about the clock and chair mystery, and wondering how our eleven is going to make out."
"It's enough to drive you to—cigarettes," admitted Tom. "But I"
"Say, I'll tell you what let's do," broke in Sid. "Let's invite that Simpson chap down here. He must be sort of lonesome, being a stranger here. I saw him going off to his room after grub, and none of the fellows spoke to him. Now, Randall isn't that kind of a college. True, we don't know much about him, but he looks the right sort. It won't do any harm to have him down here and talk to him."
"Sure not," agreed Phil at once.
"Good idea," declared Tom. "Shall we all go and invite him down, as a committee of three, or will one be enough?"
"Oh, one," replied Phil. "You go, Tom, you're the homeliest. Have it as informal as possible."
"I like your nerve!" exclaimed the end. "However, I will go, for I like Simpson. I wish he was on the eleven. Wonder if he was any good at Stanford?"
"Never heard of him setting the goal posts on
