o the winds.

"I know you will," said the captain, amused. "And now, you young
bulldog, back to your room and shake yourself together."

"But I want to go on; I'm feeling fine."

"Off the field," said the captain with terrific sternness.

Dink went like a dog ordered home, slowly, unwillingly, turning from
time to time in hopes that his captain would relent.

When he had passed the chapel and the strife of the practice had
dropped away he felt all at once sharp, busy pains running up his back
and over his shoulders. But he minded them not. At that moment with
the words of the captain--_his_ captain forever now--ringing in his
ears, he would have gone forth gratefully to tackle the whole team,
one after another, from wiry little Charlie DeSoto to the elephantine
P. Lentz.

Suddenly a thought came to him.

"Gee, I bet I shook up Tough McCarty, anyhow," he said grimly. And
refreshed by this delightful thought he went briskly across the
Circle.

At the steps Finnegan, coming out the door, hailed him excitedly:

"Hi, Dink, we've got a Freshman who's setting up to jiggers and
eclairs. Hurry up!"

"No," said Dink.

"What?" said Dennis faintly.

"I can't," said Dink, bristling; "I'm in training."

XIII

The Tennessee Shad, reclining in an armchair softened by sofa
cushions, gave critical directions to Dink Stover and Dennis de Brian
de Boru Finnegan, to whom, with great unselfishness, he had
surrendered all the privileges of the hanging committee.

"Suppose _you_ agitate yourself a little," said Dink, descending from
a rickety chair which, placed on a table, had allowed him to suspend a
sporting print from the dusty moulding.

"The sight of you at hard labor," said Finnegan, from a bureau on the
other side of the room, "would fill me with cheer, delectation and
comfort."

The Tennessee Shad, by four convulsive processes, reached his feet.

"Oh, very well," he said carelessly. "Thought you preferred to run
this show yourselves."

Picking up a poster, he selected with malicious intent the most
unsuitable spot in the room and started to climb the bureau,
remarking:

"This is about it, I should say."

The artistic souls of Dink and Dennis protested.

"Murder, no!"

"You chump!"

"Too big for it."

"Well, if you know so much," said the Tennessee Shad, halting before
the last upward struggle and holding out the poster, "where would you
put it?"

Stover and Dennis indignantly bore the post