ks, thanks. Gee, my collar's sopping wet!"

"Oh, that's all right," called someone. "You'll be going to bed soon.
Say, Larry, do that one with the three tennis balls."

"Isn't room enough. I know a good trick with coins, though. Any fellow
got two halves?"

Groans of derision were heard and at that moment someone discovered the
presence of Don and Tim and Larry's audience deserted him. When the
new-comers had found accommodations, such as they were, conversation
switched to the all-absorbing subject of football. Most of the fellows
assembled were members of the first or second teams: Larry Jones was a
substitute half; Clint Thayer was first-choice left tackle; Steve
Edwards, sprawled on Clint's bed, was left end and this year's captain;
the short, sturdy youth in the Morris chair was Thursby, the centre; Tom
Hall, broad of shoulders, was right guard; Harry Walton, slimmer and
rangier, with a rather saturnine countenance, was a substitute for that
position. Jim Morton was, as we know, manager, and only Amory--or
"Amy"--Byrd and Leroy Draper, the tow-headed, tip-nosed youth sharing
the Morris chair with Thursby, were, in a manner of speaking,
non-combatants.

But being a non-combatant didn't prevent Amy Byrd from airing his views
and opinions on the subject of football, and that he was now doing.
"Every year," he protested, "I have to hear the same line of talk from
you chaps. It's wearying, woesomely wearying. Now, as a matter of fact,
every one of you knows that we've got the average material and that
we'll go ahead and turn out an average team and beat Claflin as per
usual. The only chance for argument is what the score will be. You
fellows like to grouse and pretend every fall that the team's shot full
of holes and that the world is a dark, dreary, dismal place and that
winning from Claflin is only a hectic dream. For the love of lemons,
fellows, chuck the undertaker stuff and cheer up. Talk about something
interesting, or, if you must talk your everlasting football, cut out the
sobs!"

"Oh, dry up, Amy," said Tom Hall. "You oughtn't to be allowed to talk.
Someone stuff a pillow in his mouth. No one has said we were shot full
of holes, but you can't get around the fact that we've lost a lot of
good players and----"

"Oh, gee, he's at it again!" wailed Amy. "Yes, Thomas darling, you've
lost two fellows out of the line and two out of the backfield and
there's nothing to live for and we'd better poison ourselves o