And it was a tight game. Time and again the score was tied. Then another Idaho player would find the basket and pandemonium would break loose once more. A thrilling last-minute rally brought Idaho to the front and the game was won just as the timer’s gun cracked. The boy was radiant, breathless. His new friends could speak only in whispers. “Physical Director over there,” one of them pointed. “Greatest football coach in the Northwest. Like to meet him?” [Illustration: (uncaptioned)] “There’s nothing like it,” the Coach was saying to Father a few minutes later, while the Boy kept silent and admired. “There’s nothing like regular, well-coached athletics to keep a boy—or girl either—sound and healthy during college years and when they get out in life. We try to get everybody into these sports here, so they will enjoy the exercise they get. We have class teams and fraternity teams; first, second and third teams; and this Gymnasium’s just the busiest place on the campus.” “Does it take much time from their studies?” asked Father, always cautious. “Not at all. It clears their brains and they can study all the better.” “I’d rather make the big teams—like the one tonight,” suggested the boy. [Illustration: _That’s Why We Win_] “And you’ll have a good chance, too. Everybody in school has, after his first year.” Then the Coach got enthusiastic. “Before long every high-school boy in Idaho will be looking to the day when he can represent his own state university in athletic sports. We’ll have Idaho coaches in Idaho schools and our teams here will be a big factor in making every citizen proud that he lives in Idaho. There’s no finer loyalty anywhere than our boys have right now. That’s why we win.” Over in an adjoining building Father and the Boy found a spacious auditorium, beautiful beyond their dreams. “They say it’s like the old college chapels in England, only newer,” volunteered Tom. “I don’t know much about such things.” [Illustration: _Student Performers of a Clever Modern Comedy_] Soon the curtain rose on an attractively-set stage, and student performers, with almost professional skill, began the performance of a clever modern comedy. “Do they often do this?” asked Father between acts. “It’s first-class training for the actors and the audience too. I’ve always wanted my children to know good plays and good music and good books. I’ve had so little chance for such things.” He was assured that there were plays as good as this several times a year, with a special one at commencement time. Better still, every student in the University could try out for the parts and in certain classes there was practice in writing plays as well as acting them. Next morning Father and the Boy were routed out of a sound sleep and hurried down to breakfast. “Most of the fellows have eight-o’clocks,” Tom explained. “They check up mighty close on absences here.” Father nodded his approval.