The practice of detailing players or coaches to attend games played by a rival school or college in order to gain information that may aid in defeating such rival is a questionable one, in spite of its prevalence, and I have no intention of defending it. At the same time I very much doubt if William Gibson――over at Broadwood they called him Billy――considered that he was doing anything out of the way. I am willing, even eager, to attribute the highest patriotic motives to Mr. Gibson, up to the time he met Charles Cotton. For what happened subsequently I offer no excuses. Even the most rabid patriotism will not explain it. Gibson had purposely attired himself to look as little like a student as possible. That is, he had donned a derby hat instead of the usual cap and a rather dressy light overcoat, hoping perhaps to give the impression of being a young gentleman of mercantile pursuits, say a youthful but promising bank clerk or a budding broker. Unfortunately, Billy’s countenance and figure, once seen, were nearly unforgettable. The countenance was heavy and pugnacious and the figure broad-shouldered and massive, massive even for his eighteen years. He had never actually attained a first choice position on the Broadwood eleven, but he was a good player and an excellent substitute guard, and he had more than once opposed Yardley during his football career. He had taken pains to arrive early at the field and was in his seat before the teams came on the field, and it is probable that his presence would not have been discovered by the enemy had not Davis’s eyes gone roaming over the Forest Hill contingent in search of an acquaintance. Gibson saw that he was recognized; the hostile stares of the group below told him that; and he was disappointed. However, there was no help for it, and, as he was there, he might as well remain. Even if Yardley failed to show any new tricks it was still possible to get a line on her formations in attack and defense and get a general idea of her ability. When The Duke summoned him to the telephone Gibson had no suspicions. It was quite possible that the Broadwood coach had thought of some feature of Yardley’s playing that he wanted information on. He hesitated for a moment to show himself, thinking that perhaps his presence might be resented. Then, realizing that he had already been recognized and that to disregard the summons would look strange, he answered it. It was only when, cooped up in the telephone booth, he learned from the Greenburg operator that there was no record of any call for him that it began to dawn upon him that he had been made the victim of a hoax.