Deane's mother. Since Saturday was a half-holiday she was probably taking him home for a visit. He found himself envying the small Junior who, tucked into the corner, hadn't looked as though he was half appreciating his luck.
But Clif's guess proved wrong later. When the game with Freeburg High School began at three o'clock the big dark blue car was standing at the farther side of the gridiron, beyond the running track. The Junior was no longer in it. Mrs. Deane and Loring were the sole occupants, Loring's attendant and the chauffeur being seated together on the grass a short distance away. Clif drew Tom's attention to the car and Tom said: "Gosh! It's one of those English whatyoucallems, isn't it? Say, that's some cart, if you want to know! You say that's Mrs. Deane? What's she like?"
"Awfully pretty," said Clif emphatically. "I wasn't very close to them, but she looked corking."
"Yes, but if you have plenty of money you can look like—like Venus herself, I guess," answered Tom pessimistically. "Maybe close to she wouldn't look so wonderful."
"Yes, she would," said Clif stoutly. "I'll bet you anything—"
But as Freeburg kicked off just then the conversation ended abruptly.
Clif and Tom watched the game from the ground beside the track. There was no room for them on the benches, nor for a dozen more equally unimportant members of the squad, and so they spread their blue
