letic
field.

There were tours of work in the gym., too.

Besides, it was "early to bed and early to rise" for all members
of the squad.

Even those who hoped only to "make second" were under strict orders
to let nothing interfere with their condition.

Three mornings in the week Coach Morton met all squad men for
either cross-country work or special work in sprinting. And this
was before breakfast, when each man was on honor pledged to take
only a pint of hot water---nothing more---before reporting.
On the other mornings, football aspirants were pledged to run
without the coach.

Yet, with all this, studies had to be kept up to a high average,
for no man on the "unset" list could hope to be permitted to play
football.

Hard work? Yes. But discipline, above all. And discipline is
priceless to the young man who really hopes to get ahead in life!

"You're not playing fair," Dave cried reproachfully to his chum
one day.

"Why not?" Prescott questioned mildly.

"You're using hair tonic!" Darrin asserted, with mock seriousness,
as he gazed at Dick's bushy mop of football hair. "You're growing
a regular chrysanthemum for a top piece to your head."

"Oh, my hair, eh?" smiled Dick. "Why, you can have as fine a
lot of hair if you want to take the trouble."

"Don't I want it, though?" retorted Darrin. "What kind of tonic
do you use?"

"Grease," smiled Prescott.

"Nothing but grease?"

"Nothing much."

"What kind of grease?"

"Elbow!"

"Now, stop your joshing," ordered Dave promptly. "No kind of
muscular work is going to bring out a fuzzy rug like that on anyone's
skypiece."

"But that's just how I do it," Dick insisted. "Not a bit hard,
either. See here! Just use your finger tips, briskly, like this,
and stir your whole scalp up with a brisk massage."

"How long do you keep it up?" demanded Dave, after following suit
for some time.

"Oh, about ninety seconds, I guess," nodded Prescott. "You want
to do it eight times a day, and wash your head weekly, though
with bland soap and not too much of it."

"Is that honestly all you do to get a Siberian fur wig such as
you're wearing?"

"That's all I do," replied Dick. "Except---yes; there's one
thing more. Go out of doors all you can without a hat."

"The active curry-comb and the vanished hat for mine, then," muttered
Dave, with another envious look at Dick's bushy hair.

Nor did Dave rest until the other chums all had the secret. By
t