"I guess you know Harry—all of you—don't you?" put in Walter.
"Oh, yes, forgetting my manners, as usual," laughed Jack, but there was little of mirth in the sound. "Harry, the girls—the girls—Harry. Pleased to meet you—and all that. Come on, Cora. I guess I'm—tired."
His eyes showed it. Poor Jack was not at all himself.
"But how did it happen—what's the matter?" asked Cora. "Were you suddenly stricken?"
"About like that—yes," admitted Jack. "Trying to do too much, the doc said. I oughtn't to have made an effort for the double literature. Thought I'd save a term on it. But that, and training too hard, did me up. It's a shame, too, for we have a peach of an eleven!"
"I know, Jack, it is too bad," said Cora, sympathetically.
"Oh, it isn't that I'm actually a non-combatant, Sis, but I've lost my nerve, and what I have left is frayed to a frazzle. I've just got to do nothing but look handsome for the next three months."
"It's a good time to look that way," ventured Bess.
"Look how?" asked Jack.
"Handsome. Tell me about the pretty stranger, Cora."