"Why?" asked Dick, for there was a vague threat in the tones of his caller.
"Well, nev' min'. Will you let me play?"
Porter was not himself. Dick had never seen him thus, and he feared lest some of the teachers discover his condition. He thought it best to temporize with him.
"I'll see what I can do," he promised good-naturedly. "Come and see me in the morning. You'd better go to bed now."
"Go to bed?" and Porter's voice rose. "Why, wha's matter me? Ain't I a'right?"
"Yes, but if you are to play to-morrow you'll need a rest. See me in the morning."
"All right. I'll go. But if I can't play whole game you be sorry, Ham. You're good feller—you let me play—be sorry if you don't—tha's all," and Porter lurched from the room, while Dick shook his head sorrowfully.
Mr. Hamilton came up to Dick's room about an hour later. It needed but a look at his face to see that his errand had proven a failure.
"Well?" asked Dick, but he knew what the answer would be.
"Mr. Duncaster wouldn't even talk to me when he learned what my object was," said the millionaire wearily. "I guess we can't do anything with him, Dick. But never mind," he added more brightly, "I can try another scheme. They haven't got us beaten yet, Dick, my boy!"