gymnasium and to insinuate himself under the refreshing downpour of a shower bath without further suffering. But he was so fagged out and so lame by the time supper was over that he flatly refused Tom's challenge to chess—a game he knew very little of—and dragged his weary body up to Number 17 and flopped on his bed. Tom, not to be deprived of his chess, sought the recreation room, promising to meet the other for study hour.
Walter Treat looked mildly disapproving when Clif stretched his tired body out on the bed. Walter's athletic activities were confined to an infrequent game of tennis and an even more infrequent afternoon of golf, and it is probable that he didn't appreciate his roommate's condition. Interpreting the look correctly, though, Clif presented his excuse, wondering as he did so why he should consider it necessary to secure Walter's approval.
"I don't see why they make you fellows practice on such a warm day," observed Walter when Clif had added a groan to his explanation for good measure. "Still, I dare say there's so little time that they can't afford to waste any. Better take a hot bath before bed."
"Gee, that sounds good," assented Clif. After a minute he asked: "Say, Walter, do you know who the fellow in the invalid's chair is?"
"His name is Deane; either Laurence or Lorin, I think. His father is Sanford Deane."
"Sanford Deane? You don't mean the Sanford Deane, do you?"
