"As for you, Snail Looper," continued Coach Lighton, giving the center the name he had earned from his habit of prowling about nights and moving at slow speed, "you are doing fairly well, but be a little quicker. Try to forget that you're a relative of the _Helix Mollusca_. You backs, get into plays on the jump, and take advantage of the momentum. That's the way to smash through the line. Now then, we'll try signals again. Clinton, keep a cool head. Nothing is worse than getting your signals mixed, and you fellows, if you don't understand exactly what the play is, call for the signal to be repeated. That will save costly fumbles. Now line up again." They went through the remainder of the practice with a snap and vim that did the heart of the coach and the captain good. The scrub team was pretty well worn out when a halt was called. "Do you think you will beat Fairview?" asked Ford Fenton of Tom a little later, when the left-end and Phil were on their way to supper, after a refreshing shower bath. "I hope so, Ford. But you never can tell. Football is pretty much a gamble." "Yes, I suppose so. But my uncle says----" "Say, are you going to keep that up this term?" demanded Phil wearily. "If you are, I'm going to apply to the courts for an injunction against you and your uncle." "Well," continued Fenton with an injured air, "he was football coach here for some time, and my uncle says----" "There he goes again!" cried Tom. "Step on him, Phil!" But Ford, with a reproachful look, turned aside. "I don't see why there's such a prejudice against my uncle," he murmured to himself. But there wasn't. It was against the manner in which the nephew ceaselessly harped on what his relative said, though Ford was never allowed to tell what it was. The Randall eleven was fairly on edge when they indulged in light practice Saturday morning, preparatory to leaving for Fairview, where the first game of the season was to take place. "Feel fit, Tom?" asked Sid, who had to carry his left hand in a sling. Dr. Marshall had been unable to learn anything from the druggist that put up the liniment, and the cause for the queer stiffness remained undiscovered. "As fit as a fiddle," replied the lad. "How about you, Phil?" "I'm all to the Swiss cheese, as the poet had it. Is it about time to start?" "Nearly. We're going in a special trolley. Does your shoulder pain you any?" "Not a bit." "I suppose--er--that is--er--your sister will be at the game?" ventured Tom. "Of course. She's as daffy about it as I am. If she had been a boy she'd have played. Miss Tyler will be there, of course?" Phil questioned in turn. "I don't know--I suppose so," answered Tom. "Oh, of course. She and your sister will probably go together." "Yes, they're great chums. I wonder why I didn't get a letter from dad to-day? He promised to write every night. I ought to have received one. I'd like to know how my mother is."