The first cut was announced the next morning, and that afternoon the second team came into being. Leonard was as surprised as relieved to find his name not among the seventeen on the list. He read it three times to make sure. Then he remembered that there would be other cuts coming, and felt less jubilant. There was a long and hard scrimmage that Friday afternoon, but he didn’t get into it. However, since the coach had his thoughts centered on the morrow’s contest that day, Leonard was not unduly chagrined. It wasn’t likely that any fellow who hadn’t a chance of being called on to face Lorimer would command Mr. Cade’s attention to-day. The new plays didn’t go any too well, and some of the older ones went little better. On the whole, there was a general air of dissatisfaction apparent about the field and, later, in the locker room of the gymnasium. Of course, as Slim remarked, walking back to hall with Leonard, beating Lorimer “wasn’t anything to get het up about, but, just the same and nevertheless and notwithstanding, it would sort of feel good to hand those lads a wallop!” “I’ve got a hunch we’ll win,” said Leonard comfortably. “You have, eh? Well, I’ve got a hunch that we’ll have to show more form than we did to-day if we do lick ’em,” answered Slim grimly. “No one had any punch this afternoon. I don’t blame Johnny for being sore.” “Was he?” asked Leonard, surprised. “Was he! I’ll say he was! Don’t you know the symptoms yet?” Leonard shook his head apologetically. “I guess I don’t. He didn’t say much, did he?” “No, he said mighty little. That’s his way. When he gets sore he shuts his mouth like a clam. Oh, of course, he talks up to a certain point, but after that--” Slim shook his head. “This afternoon he was so silent it was creepy! I wouldn’t be much surprised if there was a fine old shake-up about Monday. Well, we who are about to die salute you!” Slim drew aside at the entrance to Haylow, his fingers at his forehead, and Leonard passed impressively by. “I shall always remember you kindly, Slim,” he said.