"Then you don't think Penny had any right to interfere?" "Don't I? You bet I do! Anyone has a right to interfere with Harmon Dreer. Anyone who hands him a jolt is a public benefactor." "I fear you're a trifle biased," laughed Clint. "Whatever that is, I am," responded Amy cheerfully. "What was Melville doing to arouse the gentleman's wrath?" "I didn't hear the details. Dreer assured me twice that he was going to get even with Penny, though." "Piffle! He hasn't enough grit! Penny should worry! Say, what are you making faces about?" "I--it's my knee. I got a whack on it and it sort of hurts when I bend it." "Why didn't you get it rubbed, you silly chump. Let's see it." "Oh, it's nothing. It'll be all right tomorrow." "Let--me--see--it!" commanded Amy sternly. "Well, I'd say you did whack it! Stretch out there and I'll rub it. Oh, shut up! I've rubbed more knees than--than a centipede ever saw! Besides, it won't do to have you laid up, Clint, old scout. Think of what it would mean to the second team--and the school--and the nation! I shudder to contemplate it. That where it is? I thought so from your facial contortions. Lie still, can't you? How do you suppose I can--rub if--you--twist like--that?" "Don't be so--so plaguey enthusiastic!" gasped Clint. "Nonsense! Grin and bear it. Think what it would mean if you were lost to the team!" "Oh, dry up," grumbled Clint. "How did you get on with your silly tennis today?" "All right. We'll finish up tomorrow, I guess. I play Kennard in the morning. He's a snap." "Why don't you pick out someone who can play? Don't win the tournament too easily, Amy. They'll get onto you." "That's so, but I can't afford to take any chances. There you are! Now you're all right. Up, Guards, and at them!" "I'm not a guard; I'm a tackle," corrected Clint as he experimentally bent his knee up and down. "It does feel better, Amy. Thanks."