He found the professor at home, and received a cordial greeting.
"I see you boys trounced Dartmouth last week," he said genially. "I've seldom seen a better game."
This gave Bert his opening.
"We hope that isn't a circumstance to what we'll do to the 'Greys' and 'Maroons,'" he replied. "That is, we did hope so up to this afternoon."
The professor looked at him sharply.
"Why not now?" he asked.
And then Bert told him of the conditions of Hodge and Axtell, and the hope he entertained that some way might be found to make them up after the big games instead of before. He spoke with all the earnestness he felt, and the professor listened sympathetically.
"It's too bad," he assented. "I'm afraid, though, there's no remedy. The rules of the college are like those of the Medes and Persians, not to be broken, even"—and his eyes twinkled—"for so important a thing as a football game. Those matters anyway are in the province of the Dean. You might see him if you like, but I fear that it is a forlorn hope."
And so it proved. The Dean had a warm corner in his heart for Bert, but in this matter was not to be shaken. The college, he reminded his caller, was primarily an institution of learning and not a gymnasium. The conditions would have to be made up before the men could play, although he hinted slyly that the examinations would not be over severe.
And with this one crumb of comfort, Bert was forced to be content. He bowed himself out and returned to report the non-success of his mission.