lunch-cart held but a solitary patron, a car conductor indulging in the delicacy referred to on the wall as “Tonight’s Special: Pork Chop and Fried Onions, 30c.” The viands had diffused a perceptible fragrance through the establishment, but no one voiced criticism save Martin. Martin halted at the doorway and registered suspicion followed by disgust. “What’s the matter?” asked Bob, behind him. “Go on in!” “Onions!” said Martin in pained tones. “What of it?” “I can’t stand ’em. Gee, the place is full of ’em!” “Well, you don’t have to eat them,” replied Bob comfortingly, while those behind him earnestly requested “gangway!” Martin allowed himself to be shoved inside, but during the subsequent proceedings he wore his nose in an elevated position and looked most unhappy, a circumstance that interested Bob greatly for a reason not then apparent. Sandwiches and coffee constituted the menu served. Bob generously offered to buy Martin a chopped onion sandwich if he would eat it, which offer was thanklessly, almost rudely, declined. That banquet cost Paul Nichols most of his cash in hand, but he settled the bill in an almost regal manner; quite, as Martin commented, as though he lived amongst the palms of Westchester! Going back, Willard walked with Joe and Jack Macon, and the talk was mostly of the day’s game. Joe was rather cynical and predicted disaster in the Kenly contest unless things got better soon. “We need beef on the team,” said Joe bitterly. “We’ve got plenty of fellows who know football, but they’re too lady-like, Jack. It doesn’t do to stop and apologize before you hit the line or keel a chap over! Kenly will bring a lot of hard-hitting ‘rough-necks’ that’ll make us look like a parcel of ‘co-eds’!” “Oh, we aren’t that bad,” said Jack soothingly. “It’s early yet--” “Early nothing! The season’s half over! Gee, we’ve got to learn to fight, Jack, or we’ll get literally walked on!” “Seems to me the backfield’s a bit light, Joe.” “Of course it is, and it’s lighter than ever since Lake’s gone to left end. We’ve got to find a full-back, and find him mighty quick, and that’s no dream!” “Too bad you couldn’t land that fellow Harmon you were talking about,” said Jack. Then he turned in a puzzled way to Willard. “Say, your name’s Harmon, too, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. “That’s odd!” “Not very,” said Joe hurriedly. “The Harmon I was after was Brand’s brother. If we’d got him we’d been fixed.” “What happened?” asked Jack. “I understood it was all fixed up.” “Oh, he changed his mind,” replied Joe carelessly. “Went into the Navy, didn’t he, Brand?” “Yes,” corroborated Willard gravely. “Too bad,” murmured Jack. “Too bad you aren’t your brother, Harmon!” “Well, Brand’s doing pretty well where we had him today,” said Joe. “Rather!” agreed the other. “He surely had one fine moment this afternoon. If it hadn’t been for that Lorimer end or half--which was he? Half?--well, if it hadn’t been for him Harmon would have scored in a romp!”