The trainer’s last words were in Mr. Lindsay’s mind as he wended his way toward the gymnasium, following the direction given him by a sad-eyed Hillbury lad. He knew little about football,—though more perhaps than he wanted to know,—but he had heard enough and seen enough to be sure that Wolcott had contributed quite as much as any one else to the Seaton success. Yet not a word had passed the boy’s lips that showed any consciousness of superiority. “Fine!” thought the father, with pride. “But that is in the boy, not in the game. It’s the old strain reappearing. The Lindsays have always been men of action rather than braggarts.” At the gymnasium door he proved his right to be admitted, and some one showed him to the Seaton quarters. There he found Wolcott with a towel about his loins, and Milliken similarly clad, Hendry just getting into his shirt, and Durand dressed still more simply in nature’s garb of muscles and sinews, with a most glorious smile crowning his athletic figure, like the laurel wreath of a Greek victor. The boys greeted him cordially, and went on undisturbed with their rubbing and dressing, gloating over the grand events of the day. Over in the corner, propped against the wall, sat Laughlin, nursing a splitting headache, but clothed and in his right mind, and keenly interested in every reminiscent detail. Presently Poole came in, and accompanied Mr. Lindsay to a more convenient waiting-place outside. There after a time Wolcott joined them, and together they strolled toward the station at a pace adapted to the supposedly weary condition of the player. Here was hilarious confusion. The little station was full, the platform thronged, while the constantly increasing crowd were straggling over the tracks indifferent to danger. The cheer leaders saw their opportunity, and bellowing through their megaphones, kept the way clear for the passing trains. In the press on the platform Wolcott found Mr. Graham, whom his father was glad to meet again; also Mr. Lovering, and Tompkins, who had of course come out from Boston to see the game. Later Poole presented Ware, and while Mr. Lindsay exchanged compliments with the manager, Poole laid hands on a passing Peck, and brought him to be displayed. “This is Donald Peck, Mr. Lindsay,” said Poole. “You have probably heard of him from Wolcott.” “Oh, of course,” answered Mr. Lindsay, who during the exciting afternoon had seen so many boys, dressed and undressed, and heard so many names, that he was not quite certain where to place the newcomer. “I am very glad to meet you. Were you one of the players, too?” “Oh, no!” said Donald, shocked at the assumption. “I never could get on any team. I’m not man enough.” “You are probably just as well off,” replied Mr. Lindsay. “I don’t entirely believe in this athletic craze.” Poole now ventured a remark, and Donald slipped away. A moment later Wolcott appeared from the other side with another lad in tow.