eir minds to fight hard for the Cup, and
really they did. Several of the team were big powerful fellows whom not
a few cautious half-backs would think twice before "going for," and two
of the forwards were very smart on their pins, but wanted that true
mastery of the art of passing and dribbling at the proper time which
make up the refined and superior Association player. As for endurance,
they did not toil among iron wheels, steel axles, and brass fittings for
locomotives, to say nothing of generating steam on the shortest notice,
without being "hardy." No, no. They were in the best of condition for
the game. The Queen's took them too cheaply, and nearly paid a lasting
penalty for their carelessness. The game, in fact, was so closely fought
that the teams were unable to overcome one another, and two goals each
was the result. Meeting a second time, however, the Q.P. made short work
of them, and won by nine goals to none.

The evening before the memorable tussle which put the half of
Dumbartonshire into a state of excitement, bordering on the football
fever, "Mary, the Maid of the Football Inn," came to the door of the
little hotel repeatedly, and after casting sundry glances at the roadway
and scanning the passers-by, muttered something about being jilted, and
how shamefully she had been used by Bob. Her own Bob, who was always so
punctual, and occasionally treated her to a nice walk along the Leven,
past Ewing's big work, and even went the length of composing verses in
her honour.

"What had become of him? Had Nancy Pringle waylaid him, as she
positively swore she would do, on the first opportunity, and start the
probationary stages of a drama in real life?" The fact was Bob never
came, and no wonder. He was collared by the Dumbarton captain, and
carried off to the field to practice for the great fight of the next
day, under pains and penalties. He pleaded for Mary, but it was of no
avail. "He had," he went on to remonstrate, "promised on his word of
honour to meet her that evening and take her to Luckie M'Latchie's
booking." Luckie and Tam M'Murtrie (an old footballer) were to be
spliced a fortnight afterwards, and the "cries" were in.

With a serious air the captain lectured Bob till he was blue in the
face, and told him if he did not put himself in condition for the great
battle of the morrow he would be stoned by the town enthusiasts. He
remembered when a boy at school scribbling as best he could on his
copyboo