nst a colored
man who was exceptionally good and who, Hooks admitted afterward, 'put
it all over' him. The Monday following this game we received our usual
'call.' After telling me what a rotten game I had played he turned on
Burr and remarked. 'What the devil was the matter with you on Saturday,
Hooks? That guard on the Brown team "smeared" you.' Burr replied, 'I
don't know what was the matter with me. I used my hands on that nigger's
head and body all through the game but it didn't seem to do any good.'
Several of us who were listening felt a bit embarrassed that Hooks had
unwittingly made this remark. The tension was relieved, however, when
Lew drawled out, 'Why the devil didn't you kick him in the shins?' A
burst of laughter greeted this sally."

Donald Grant Herring, better known to football men in and out of
Princeton as Heff, is one of the few American players of international
experience. After a period of splendid play for the Tigers he went to
England with a Rhodes Scholarship. At Merton College he continued his
athletic career, and it was not long before he became a member of one of
the most famous Rugby fifteens ever turned out by Oxford.

Heff has always said that he enjoyed the English game, but whether the
brand he played was American or English, his opponent usually got
little enjoyment out of a hard afternoon with this fine Princeton
athlete.

"In the late summer of 1903, I was on a train coming east from Montana,"
Heff tells me, "after a summer spent in the Rockies. A companion
recognized among the passengers Doc Hillebrand, who was coming East from
his ranch to coach the Princeton team. This companion who was still a
Lawrenceville schoolboy, had the nerve to brace Hillebrand and tell him
in my presence that I was going to enter Princeton that fall and that I
was a star football player. You can imagine what Doc thought, and how I
felt. However, Doc was kind enough to tell me to report for practice and
to recognize me when I appeared on the field several weeks later. I soon
drifted over to the freshman field and I want to admit here what caused
me to do so. It was nothing more nor less than the size of Jim Cooney's
legs. Jim was a classmate of mine whom I first saw on the football field
when he and another tackle candidate were engaged in that delicate
pastime known to linemen as breaking through. I realized at once that,
if Jim and I were ever put up against one another, I would stand about
as much c