So, as Dick, Dave and Greg Holmes were strolling along schoolward,
Bayliss overhauled them.
"Good morning, fellows," he called, briskly, with an offhand attempt at geniality.
All three of the chums looked up at him, then glanced away again.
"Oh, I say, now, don't keep it up," coaxed Bayliss. "We High School fellows all want to be decent enough friends. And how's the football? I don't suppose the squad is full yet. I—-I half believe I may join and take a little practice."
"Thinking of it?" asked Dick, looking up coolly.
"Yes—-really," replied Bayliss.
"See the coach, then; he's running the squad."
"Yes; I guess I will, thanks. Good morning!"
Bayliss sauntered along, blithely whistling a tune. He knew Coach Morton would give him the glad hand of welcome for the squad and the team.
"Oh, Mr. Morton," was Bayliss's greeting, as he encountered the coach near the school building steps.