ones before long. They say that the
'Greys' and 'Maroons' are flying the skull and crossbones and
threatening to give no quarter, when they stack up against us on the
gridiron."

"Threatened men live long," said Mr. Quinby drily. "I've heard that talk
before, but I notice that the Blues usually give a good account of
themselves when it comes to an actual fight. It was so in my own college
days. There'd be all sorts of discouraging rumors afloat and the general
public would get the idea that the team was going around on crutches.
But when the day of the game came, they'd go out and wipe up the field
with their opponents. So I'm not worrying much for fear you'll have to
walk the plank."

"You'd have thought so if you had heard the way the coach waded into us
to-day," broke in Tom. "Since I heard him, I've had a new respect for
the English language. I never knew it had such resources."

"There was a certain honeyed sweetness about it that was almost
cloying," grinned Bert.

"'Twas all very well to dissemble his love,
But why did he kick us downstairs?"

added Dick.

Mr. Quinby laughed reminiscently.

"I've heard coaches talk," he said, "and I know that some of them are
artists when it comes to skinning a man alive. They'd cut through the
hide of a rhinoceros. But that is part of the game, and if a man is
over-sensitive, he doesn't want to try to make a football team. I'll
wager just the same that it did you fellows good."

"We licked the scrubs by 54 to 0," answered Tom. "We felt so sore that
we had to take it out on somebody."

"Sure thing," commented Mr. Quinby. "Just what the coach wanted. He gets
you fighting mad, until when you go out you are 'seeing red' and looking
for a victim. I've been there myself and I know."

"Did you ever play on the football team while you were an undergrad?"
asked Tom.

"No, I wasn't heavy enough. They needed beef in those days more than
they do now. You wouldn't think it, perhaps," with a glance at his
present generous girth, "but I was a slender young sprout at that time,
and I had to content my athletic ambitions with track work and baseball.
But I was crazy over football, and I was always there to root and yell
for the team when the big games were pulled off. And many a time since
I've traveled from San Francisco all the way to New York to see a
Thanksgiving Day game. Sometimes, the result has made me want to go away
somewhere and hide, but more ofte