. The
opponent was Hanniston College. Ordinarily, in the past, Hanniston had
been an easy enough opponent, though there had been years in which
Hanniston had carried the score away from the field.

"How many of the regular team do you want to throw into the game against
Hanniston, Mr. Hepson?" inquired Lieutenant-Commander Havens the night
before the game.

"Every one of them, sir," Hepson answered the head coach. "Until we get
into a real game, we can't be sure that we've the strongest eleven.
To-morrow's game will show us if we have made any mistakes in our
selections."

Even though Hanniston was considered one of the lesser opponents, every
man in the brigade speculated with great interest, that night, on the
probable outcome of the morrow.

"Darrin will have a good chance to prove himself, a dub to-morrow,"
thought Midshipman Jetson darkly. "I hate to wish against the Navy, but
I'll cheer if Darrin, individually, ties himself up in foozle knots!"

CHAPTER X

THE GRIDIRON START

On the day of the game the midshipmen talked eagerly, and mostly of
football, through dinner in the great messhall of the brigade.

"Did any one see the Hanniston infants arrive?" demanded Page.

"Infants, eh!" called Joyce from the next table. "That shows you didn't
see the visiting eleven."

"Why? Are they of fair size?" asked Farley.

"It took two 'buses to bring the regular eleven, besides the subs and all
the howlers," retorted Joyce. "And the regular eleven, I am reliably
informed, tip the scales at four tons."

"Oh, come, now, Joyce, shave off a ton or two," protested Farley.

"I won't take off more than fifty pounds, sir," retorted Joyce with mock
stubbornness. "Say! The Hanniston fellows are enormous."

"Then they've run all to bones and haven't any brains," grinned Dan.
"After all, we don't mind mere bulk, for intelligence wins most of the
games on the gridiron."

"As to their intelligence, I can't say," admitted Joyce. "At any rate,
from the glimpse that I got of the Hans, I should say that they average
two years older than our men."

"Let's throw up the sponge, then," proposed Dalzell demurely. "If we
can't beat the visitors what's the use of playing them? It isn't even
necessary to get into togs. We can send a note to the referee, and he can
award the game to Hanniston."

"Fine!" broke in Hepson scornfully.

"However, I guess we aren't going to have any cinch to-day," joined
in Midshipman Waite, fr