that
didn't account for the fact that those who did take part went at their
work as if half asleep. Both McPhee and Cotter failed to get any life
into the first, and the second, while it, too, seemed to have taken part
in the general slump, managed to score twice while the first was with
difficulty wresting three touchdowns from its opponent. Mr. Robey
shouted himself red in the face, Steve Edwards, who followed practice,
pleaded and exhorted, and a stocky, broad-shouldered, bearded individual
who made his appearance that afternoon for the first time frowned and
shook his head, and all to small purpose. The players accepted scoldings
and insults as a donkey accepts blows, untroubledly, apathetically, and
jogged on at their own pace, guilty of all the sins of commission and
omission in the football decalogue.

There was much curiosity about the newcomer and many opinions as to his
identity were hazarded on the bench that afternoon. It was quite evident
that he was a football authority, for Coach Robey consulted him at times
all during practice. And it was equally evident that they were close
friends, since the stranger was on one occasion seen to smite the head
coach most familiarly between the shoulders! But who he was and what he
was doing there remained a secret until after supper. Then it became
known that his name was Proctor, Doctor George G. Proctor, that he was a
practising physician some place in the Middle West and that he was
visiting Coach Robey. But that was unsatisfactory data and some
enterprising youth hunted back in the football records and, lo, the
mystery was explained. Eight years before "Gus" Proctor had played
tackle on the Princeton eleven and in his junior and senior years had
been honoured with a position on the All-American Team. Subsequently he
had coached at a college in Ohio and had put said college on the map.
Now, having stolen away from home to see Princeton and Yale play next
Saturday, he was staying for a day or two with Mr. Robey. After that
became generally known Doctor Proctor was gazed at with a new respect
whenever he appeared on field or campus.

Don and Tim went up to Number 12 that night after supper to call on Tom
Hall. Tim was having hard work making Don face the music. If Don could
have had his way he would have kept to himself, but Tim insisted on
dragging him around. "Just keep a firm upper lip, Donald," he
counselled, "and show the fellows that there's nothing in it. That'