es at the line, Roy took up the fight. But the
first were playing their very best to-day; perhaps the presence of the
old captain had a good deal to do with it; at all events, the second's
gains were few and far between and several times it lost the ball only
to have it returned by order of the coaches. They were trying out the
first's defense and although twice Roy stood inside of the first's
ten-yard line, the practice ended without a score for the second.

"I thought you'd made the first that time," said Chub as he and Roy
walked back to the campus together later. "You would have, too, if
Horace hadn't passed like an idiot."

"I knew he would," said Roy. "There wasn't much use trying to do
anything with him in front of me. If only Forrest would get some snap
into his playing! Great Scott, he's a regular tortoise!"

"Well, there's a week yet," said Chub hopefully. "There's no telling
what may happen in a week."

"There won't anything happen as far as I am concerned," answered the
other a trifle despondently.

Nor did there. When practice was over on Thursday Roy stood with the
second and answered the cheer given them by the first, and afterwards he
and Forrest walked over to the gymnasium together trying not to feel
blue.

"Well, that's over with for this year," grunted Forrest. "Tomorrow we'll
be gentlemen and strut around in some decent clothes." He looked
thoughtfully at his torn and faded brown jersey. "I guess this is the
last time I'll wear you, old chap," he said softly.

But Forrest was mistaken, for the next afternoon he and Roy and four
other members of the second were out on the gridiron again walking
through plays and learning the new signals of the first. Jack Rogers
wasn't going to lose the morrow's game on account of lack of players.
There was a solid hour and a quarter of it, and when Roy went to bed at
half-past nine, a half hour earlier than usual, formations and signals
were still buzzing through his brain.

The gridiron, freshly marked, glistened under bright sunlight. November
could not have been kinder in the matter of weather. There had been no
hard freeze since the rains and the field was as springy under foot as
in September. Over on the far side a big cherry and black flag
fluttered briskly in the breeze and beneath it, overflowing from the
small stand onto the yellowing turf, were Hammond's supporters. Opposite
were the Ferry Hill hordes under their brown and white banner and with