"Can you walk, Tom?" asked Bruce, with his arm around his friend's
shoulders.

"Oh, yes. I'm a bit stiff, that's all."

"Too bad. This is my fault. You may be lame for football practice
now."

"No, I guess not. I'll use some liniment when I get back. It wasn't
your fault at all. It was that Heller's confounded meanness, and I've
a good notion to------"

"You're not going to make a row over it; are you!" asked Bruce quickly.
"You won't go back on what you said?"

"No, but I'll watch my chance for getting back at him. I almost
believe he did it deliberately."

"I hardly think so, though it was mighty careless of him. But we might
as well be getting on. It isn't far to the Hall now."

Tom found himself a trifle stiff and lame but he could walk all right,
though with a slight limp. Bruce bade him good-night and passed on to
his own dormitory, while Tom silently made his way to the room he had
picked out for himself and his chums. There was a light burning in it,
though it was after hours.

"Guess all rules are suspended for a while yet," mused our hero as he
entered. "Well, we'll pass the wig joke for a while. I forgot to get