to have them on the eleven the rest of this
season."

By the time that the afternoon's practice was over fully fifty
Army officers were on the sides, watching the work, for word had
traveled by 'phone and the gathering had been a quick one.

"Prescott! Holmes!" called Brayton sharply, after the practice
was over. "You'll play on the Army team tomorrow. Lieutenant
Carney says so. Prescott, yours is left end; Holmesy, you'll
expend your energies as left tackle. Haynes, you'll be in reserve,
as a sub."

The message to Cadet Haynes was delivered without the suspicion
of a snub in it. Almost any other man in the battalion would
have accepted this wise decision without a murmur, delighted that
the Army had found a better man.

Not so with Cadet Haynes. He turned cold all over. Not a word of
reply did he offer, but turned on his heal, digging his fingernails
into the palms of his hands.

"Now, what do you think of that?" demanded Haynes to himself.
"Turned down for that fellow Prescott---that shifty dodger and
cheap bootlick! And I shook hands with you yesterday, Prescott!
I never will again! Confound you, you turned out in togs at this
late hour, just to put me out of the running!"

CHAPTER XII

IN THE BATTLE AGAINST LEHIGH

Before noon the next day Lehigh turned up---team, subs., howlers
and all, and as many as could crowded into the conveyances that
had been sent down to the railway station to meet the team and
coaches.

The cadet corps, busy to a man with Saturday morning recitations,
did not see the arrival of the visiting team. But the Lehighs
and the afternoon's game were the only topics for talk at dinner
in the cadet mess hall.

"They've sent over a race of giants," growled Brayton down the
length of the table at which he sat, while a poor little plebe
cadet, acting as "gunner," was serving the roast beef. "Sergeant
Brinkman, of the quartermaster's detachment, told me that the
weight of the team sprung the axles on two of the stoutest quartermaster
wagons. Every man that Lehigh sent over weighs a good part of
a ton. What do you think of that, Prescott?"

"Glad enough to hear it," smiled Dick, nodding. "I believe it's
the light, lithe, spry fellows who stand the best show of getting
through the enemy's line."

"If all our smaller men were like you, I'd believe it, too, muttered
Brayton.

"But we haven't any more light men like you and Holmes, Prescott,"
broke in Spurlock from