"squat tag." And then the dummy would swing back into
place, harboring no malice or resentment for the rough handling, and
Joel would take his place once more and watch the next man's attempt,
finding, I fear, some consolation in the "roast" accorded to the latter.

It was toward the latter part of the second week of college. Joel had
practiced every day except Sundays, and had just arrived at the
conclusion that football as played at Harwell was no relation, not even
a distant cousin to the game of a similar name played at Hillton. Of
course he was wrong, since intercollegiate football, whether played by
schoolboys or college students, is still intercollegiate football. The
difference lies only in the state of development. At Hillton the game,
very properly, was restricted to its more primary methods; at Harwell it
is developed to its uttermost limits. It is the difference between whist
over the library table and whist at the whist club.

But all things come to an end, and at length the coach rather
ungraciously declared he could stand no more and bade them join the rest
of the candidates for the run. That run was two miles, and Joel finally
stumbled into the gymnasium tuckered out and in no very good temper just
as the five o'clock whistle on the great printing house sounded.

After dinner in the dining hall that evening Joel confided his doubts
and vexations to Outfield as they walked back to their room. "I wouldn't
care if I thought I was making any progress," he wailed, "but each day
it gets worse. To-day I couldn't seem to do a start right, and as for
tackling that old dummy, why--"

"Well, you did as well as the other chaps, didn't you?" asked Outfield.

"I suppose so. He gave it to us all impartially."

"Well, there you are. He can't tell you you're the finest young tacklers
that ever happened, because you'd all get swelled craniums and not do
another lick of work. I know the sort of fellow he is. He'll never tell
you that you are doing well; only when he's satisfied with you he'll
pass you on. You see. And don't you care what he says. Just go on and do
the best you know how. Blair told me to-day that if you tried you could
make the Varsity before the season is over. What do you think of that?
He says the coaches are puzzling their brains to find a man that's fit
to take the place of Dangfield, who was left-half last year."

"I dare say," answered Joel despondently, "but Durston will never let me
stop tac