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 of hard study, but the Owl is willing to give up the time to put you through. Is it a go?"

"Yes," said Martin. "I'll see him in the morning." After the coach was gone he sat on the porch steps with his chin cupped in the palm of one hand. The month of May would not take long to pass. He would go to the field every day and keep in practice. A sudden, disturbing thought frowned his forehead. The Owl would want him in the afternoons. He sat up a bit straighter and tried to arrive at a conclusion dealing with the amount of time it would be absolutely necessary to give to shove up his general average to a point that would permit him to go back into the game.

In the morning he waited outside the school for Oliver Morse. And yet, though he had come seeking this interview, it was the Owl who began the conversation.

"We will have to work hard," he said, his head cocked to one side. "We can start to-day—one hour every day after classes, and perhaps two hours on Saturdays. Then, if you'll study about two hours every night"

Martin broke out in protest. "What do you think I'm after, a Commencement medal?"

"You have a lot of ground to make up," the Owl said bluntly.

"What of it? That doesn't mean I'm out for