unless it is conceit
to appear for football practice in a dandy crimson sweater which must
have cost well up in two figures--but you never could tell, and, anyway,
Horace Burlen was the school leader and had a right to do what he
pleased. Just at present it pleased him to scowl fiercely, for the new
boy was displaying a most annoying deliberation. Horace examined the
other with awakening interest. He was a fairly tall youth, sixteen years
of age, well set up with good chest and shoulders and rather wide hips.
Like Horace, the younger boy was in football togs, only his sweater
instead of being brown was crimson and in place of the letters "F H"
sported by Horace the front of his garment showed where the inscription
"H 2nd" had been ripped away. But the difference between the two boys
didn't end there; Horace Burlen was tall and big and dark; Roy Porter
was several inches shorter, not so wide of shoulder nor so deep of
chest; and whereas Horace's hair was straight and black, Roy's was
light, almost sandy, and was inclined to be curly. Under the hair was a
good-looking sun-browned face, with a short, well-built nose, a good
mouth and a pair of nice grey-blue eyes which at this moment were
regarding Horace calmly. The older boy scowled threateningly.

"Say, kid, at this school we teach 'em to answer when they're spoken to;
see? Where'd you get that silly red sweater?"

"It was given to me," answered Roy coolly.

"Think you'll ever grow enough to fill it?"

"I guess so."

"Who gave it to you?"

"Seems to me they're a bit inquisitive at this school. But if you must
know, my brother gave it to me."

"Too big for him, wasn't it?"

Roy smiled.

"Not to speak of. He got a better one."

"Hope he changed the color," said Horace with a sneer.

"Why, yes, he did, as it happened. His new one is black with a crimson
H."

Horace started and shot a quick glance up and down the form confronting
him.

"Is your brother Porter of the Harvard eleven?" he asked with a trace of
unwilling respect in his voice. Roy nodded.

"I suppose you think you can play the game because he can, eh? What's
your name?"

"Porter," answered Roy sweetly.

"Don't get fresh," admonished the other angrily. "What's your first
name?"

"I guess it will do if you just call me Porter," was the reply. There
was a sudden darkening of the blue eyes and in spite of the fact that
the lips still smiled serenely Horace saw the danger signal and
respected