“He’s up to something,” Max said regretfully; “and I’d like to be in it; but that Victor is too much to be thrown away, and Lieutenant Wilde is getting to watch Osborn’s room as a cat watches a mouse-hole.”
“Osborn’s getting reckless, anyway,” answered Leon. “He’s come out all right so many times that he’s beginning to believe his luck will follow him. Some day he’ll get left.”
“Hope ’twon’t be this time,” said Max; “for it might mean extra guard duty next Saturday, and he’s too good a half back to lose. It would ruin our chances, if he didn’t play, for we haven’t a single good substitute. I tell you, Leon, you’re in luck. ’Tisn’t every fellow that gets in the color-guard and plays quarter back, the first term he’s here. You owe some of it to the start Hal has given you, though.”
“Haven’t a doubt of it,” returned Leon, laughing. “By the way, do you know why Osborn hates Hal so?”
“He doesn’t hate him, exactly,” Max answered, as he paused with his hand on the knob of his door; “he only knows Hal is down on him, and it doesn’t make him love the dominie, as he calls him, any too well.”
“Hal does say he’s outrageously fast,” said Leon meditatively. “He’s full of his larks, but I don’t think he’s a bad fellow.”
The next morning Leon was a little later than usual in taking his place at the breakfast-table. As he seated himself, Max leaned forward to speak to him.
“Osborn was skinned last night,” he said in a low voice.
“What?” And Leon looked up in surprise.
“Yes, the lieutenant called on him last night, and caught him playing cards in study-hour. ’Tisn’t the first offence, and they say it means a reduction for him.”