At half-past one o’clock there was a session of blackboard drill in the gymnasium. At a little after two the players went out to the field to find the home stand crowded with a cheering mass of schoolmates and friends from the village. For half an hour there was light practice, during which Barry got off some very satisfactory punts and Pete Zosker kicked goals from every conceivable angle and possible distance. All the time the audience sang and cheered and excitement was in the chill November air. At three the first squad trotted back to the gymnasium, pursued by thunderous “Broadmoors!” leaving a handful of substitutes to amuse the spectators a while longer. At twenty minutes to four came the send-off at the station. Those who were to make the trip to “Overlook” had been conveyed in the bus to the station, their bags between their knees, while the rest of the school had marched thither, still singing, still cheering. At the last the little branch-line train of a baggage-car and two ancient coaches was surrounded by a horde of shouting partizans, and not until the wheels were actually revolving did confusion give way to order. Then cheers began again, Billy Bassett, standing atop a baggage-truck, leading. Long after the train had pulled out of sight of the station Barry could still hear the hoarse refrain of “Team! _Team!_ TEAM!” “Overlook,” or, as it was more usually called, “The Cabin,” belonged to a council of Boy Scouts in a near-by city and was each year loaned to Broadmoor for the use of the team on the night preceding the Hoskins contest. Major Loring had inaugurated the plan of taking the players away on the eve of the big game, his theory being that the change of scene benefited his charges both physically and mentally. The cabin stood just short of the summit of Mount Sippick, at the end of a trail which started at the little village of Alden, about eight miles from Wessex, not as the crow flies but as the ever ascending, ever winding single-track railroad went. From Alden there was an uphill hike of well over a mile. The party consisted of twenty players and eight noncombatants. The latter included the Major and two assistant coaches, two managers, the trainer, and two helpers. Travel was never heavy on the line and the Broadmoor party had the two coaches almost to themselves. Barry, rather excited by the adventure, shared a seat with Larry Smythe, regular left end. Larry was a quiet chap and, while there was plenty of noise from other parts of the coach, conversation in the end seat was scanty. Barry was well enough pleased to be silent. There was much to think about. Clyde had seemed to expect Barry to sit with him a few seats back, and Barry still puzzled over the look of surprise on the other’s face when he had gone past. Barry was especially thankful that Larry Smythe didn’t insist on talking football. Larry’s only approach to that subject was in the form of an indifferent reference to the absence of Waterman.