Five minutes later they were back in Number 14, in the midst of a merry din of talk and laughter. Dick couldn’t remain with them long, however, for luncheon for the players was at a quarter to one, or as soon as the Kenwood party vacated the dining hall, and so, giving the tickets he had obtained for them to Sumner, he hurried away. “Stan will look after you,” he shouted back from the door. “There’s a stand-up lunch in Alumni for visitors at one-thirty, or you can get real food in the village. Stan will take you over to the field in plenty of time and I’ll see you here after the game. So long, dad! So long, fellows!” “Go to it, Dick!” cried Sumner. “Eat ’em up, old scout! We’ll be rooting for you!” A sketchy luncheon in the dining hall, with no one eating much, not even the veterans like Bob Peters and Harry Warden, a flight by way of the service entrance to the gymnasium and the usual confusion of changing to playing togs and listening to final instructions at the same time. Then, at last, just before two o’clock, a heartening, quiet talk of a minute by the coach. Kenwood was already at practice when Parkinson reached the field. The home stand arose and gave the “long cheer” and the base drummer of the Warne Silver Cornet Band thumped vigorously. Counter cheers mingled from across the field and then the visitors cheered for Parkinson, and Captain Bob led his men forth and a ten-minute warming-up followed, with three squads trotting up and down and the punters stretching their long legs down by the east goal. It was four minutes past two when the teams took their places and the din of cheering and singing subsided. In seats half-way up the centre of the south stands Mr. Bates and Sumner White and the other three visitors from Leonardville watched intently. Sumner had just discovered that Dick was not in the Brown-and-White’s line-up and had proclaimed the fact disappointedly. “What’s that mean?” asked Mr. Bates anxiously. “Isn’t he going to play, Sumner?” “Oh, yes, sir,” replied Sumner, assuming more confidence than he felt. “You see, a quarter-back doesn’t often last a whole game. It’s a pretty hard job. So they generally put in one to start the game and then run the other fellow on later. I guess Dick will get in before the half’s over, Mr. Bates. I think I see him down there on the bench. Yes, there he is, sir.” Mr. Bates had to have his son pointed out to him, and then a shrill whistle blew and Kenwood, having lost the toss, kicked the ball high and far into the sunlight.