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 without thinking a thing about paying for a sundae and some cakes he had."

Ned grinned but said nothing. Laurie winked gravely.

"And that's another thing," continued Polly. "It's perfectly awful the way he eats sweet things, Laurie. He comes in every day and, if I'd let him, he'd make himself sick with cream-puffs and tarts and candy. It just seems as if he didn't care what happened to him, as if he was—was desperate! Why, he told me to-day that maybe he wouldn't play football any more!"

"I guess he was just talking," said Mae.

"I don't think so." Polly shook her head. "He acts funny. Haven't you noticed it, Laurie?"

"Yes, but he always did act funny. He's a nut."

"No, he isn't; he's a real nice boy, and you oughtn't to talk like that. He's unhappy, and we ought to help him."

"All right," agreed Laurie cheerfully. "What'll we do?"

"Well, I suppose that first of all we should find