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addressed answered gruffly. Then, as Davies followed the direction, he mumbled: "Who let that bird in?" The latest Harvard hero was lacing a shoe when the former All-American quarterback came upon him. Davies paused a moment, looking down at the slim-lined figure sitting on the bench. He watched the slender fingers as they plucked feverishly at the shoe strings. Evidently the boy was in a great hurry, Davies thought. He probably wanted to get out--to meet his sweetheart and to hear her tell him how wonderful she thought he was. Davies felt a gripping pang. He knew all about it. He had been there--exactly in Broadhurst's shoes--twenty years before. After what seemed a dragging century, the young fellow finished lacing the shoe, looked up, and started. "Oh! I--I beg your pardon. Did you want to see me?" Now that his opportunity for congratulation had come, Davies for some unknown reason, felt suddenly small and insignificant. He felt the clear blue eyes of the new Harvard star boring into his with kindly inquiry, and for once in his life old C. R. D. found himself stammering. He did manage to extend his hand. "I--I just wanted to tell you how much I--that is--it did me lots of good to see---- Oh, hang it! Signals over! What I mean to say is that I've followed Harvard football for over twenty years. You see, my name's Carrington R. Davies." The Harvard quarterback continued shaking the stranger's hand politely; but there was no sign of recognition at mention of the name, only a slight frowning of the eyebrows. C. R. D. noted this and his stammering became several degrees worse. "I--I--used to play quarterback on the Crimson, too." The other's eyebrows lifted at this. "And I--and I---- Well, of course you wouldn't remember; but it was just such a day as this--twenty years ago--that I---- Perhaps you've heard tell of it?" C. R. D. brought up lamely, loath to relate the entire incident and hoping that Broadhurst would recall hearing of it. The Harvard quarterback shook his head, but there was an interested gleam in his eyes. "Why, no. I'm sorry, sir; but I----" "Well," the former All-American quarterback broke in desperately, "I made a ninety-five-yard run for a touchdown in the last minute of play and won the game against Yale, much as you did--to-day." There was a deep-throated chuckle from young Broadhurst. "Then it's you, sir, who deserve congratulations!" "No, no. Tha
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