“Thank you for nothing! At least, it requires more brains to play football well then it does to jump over a lot of silly hurdles!” “There speaks ignorance,” retorted Stanley in a superior and pitying tone. “There are just three fairly decent hurdlers in this school, Dickie, and there are at least half a hundred fairly decent football players. Q.E.D.” “Q.E. rot!” said Dick. “Anyone with skinny legs and a pair of spiked shoes can jump fences, you old swell-head! Besides, you don’t jump ’em half the time: you just knock ’em over and get tangled up in ’em. You track boys are a lot of nuts, anyway.” “Before you say something that I’ll have to resent, Dick, I will change the subject for your sake.” “Ha!” grunted Dick derisively. “That’s what everyone does when the argument goes against them. Say, what’s Sandy Halden doing with you fellows, Stan?” “He was trying to be a half-miler last I knew, but I saw him over with the jumpers Friday. You and he made up yet?” “I haven’t even seen him, except to pass him in Parkinson. I guess, by the way, Billy didn’t report that little mix-up last week.” “I knew he wouldn’t. Billy’s all right: even if he did tell me this afternoon that I took-off like a steam-roller!” “He’s very discerning,” murmured Dick. Stanley shied a whisk-broom at him, and in the subsequent fracas conversation languished. Dick started at training table that evening and found himself assigned to a seat at the substitute’s board between Pryne and Bartlett, a second-string guard. At the other table Coach Driscoll presided, with Captain Bob facing him at the farther end. At Dick’s table Stearns Whipple, the manager, occupied the head. No one paid any special attention to the newcomer as he took his seat, although several smiled in a friendly way and Pryne seemed glad to see him. Fellows had a way of appearing suddenly at that table and disappearing suddenly as well, and so a new face occasioned little interest. Stanley had cheerfully, almost gleefully, predicted that Dick would starve to death at training table, and consequently Dick was somewhat relieved to find the danger apparently very remote. There was less to choose from, and certain things that Dick was fond of, such as pie and frosted cake, were noticeably absent, but there was plenty of food nevertheless. To make up for the pastry, there was ice-cream three times a week instead of once, with a single rather dry lady-finger tucked under the saucer. Steak and chops and underdone beef and lamb formed the basis of the meals, and with those viands went a rather limited variety of vegetables. Eggs were served at breakfast in lightly cooked condition and milk was the regular three-times-a-day beverage to the exclusion of coffee and tea.