made it his duty to inquire daily after him, and the two were getting
very well acquainted. Neil likened Mills to a crab--rather crusty on the
outside, he told himself, but all right when you got under the shell.
Neil was getting under the shell.

To-day, after Neil had reported on his state of health and spirits, he
brought out Sydney's diagram. Mills examined it carefully, silently, for
some time. Then he nodded his head.

"Not bad; rather clever. Who did it; you?"

"No, I couldn't if I was to be killed. Sydney Burr did it. Maybe you've
seen him. A cripple; goes around on a tricycle."

"Yes, I've seen the boy. But does he--has he played?"

"Never; he's been a crip all his life." Mills opened his eyes in
astonishment.

"Well, if that's so this is rather wonderful. It's a good play,
Fletcher, but it's not original; that is, not altogether. But as far as
Burr's concerned it is, of course. Look here, the fellow ought to be
encouraged. I'll see him and tell him to try his hand again."

"He's coming here this evening," said Neil. "Perhaps you could look in
for a moment?"

"I will. Let me take this; I want Jones to see it. He thinks he's a
wonder at diagrams," laughed Mills, "and I want to tell him this was got
up by a crippled freshman who has never kicked a ball!"