ically. "I'd make a complaint to the proctor about him."
"Oh, you wouldn't do that; would you, Tom?" and Phil Clinton stepped over to a creaking old sofa, and peered behind it, brushing up against it, and causing a cloud of dust to blow out about the room. "You wouldn't do that, Tom. Why, it isn't Randall spirit to go to the authorities with any of our troubles that can be settled otherwise."
"But this isn't an ordinary trouble!" cried the pitcher. "Our old chair has been taken, and I'm going to find out who's got it. When I do"
He clenched his fists suggestively, and began to strip off his football togs, preparatory to donning ordinary clothes.
"It isn't back there," announced Phil, as he leaned upright again, after a prolonged inspection behind the big sofa. "But there's a lot of truck there. I think I see my trigonometry." Getting down on his hands and knees, and reaching under the antiquated piece of furniture, he pulled out not one but several books.
"Oh, come out and let the stuff back of the sofa alone," suggested Tom. "We can clean that out some other time," for the big piece of furniture formed a convenient "catch-all" for whatever happened to be in the way of the lads. If there was anything they did not have any immediate use for, and for which room could not be found in,
