Thursday there were no misadventures for Bert. He even scored a mild triumph by breaking away from the congested area after a delayed pass and streaking something over thirty yards into the less populated section of the field. He might have kept on and quite lost himself in the vast open spaces around the Second Team’s goal line if a pesky long-legged youth named Simpkins hadn’t pursued him and eventually attached himself to his legs. Bert never had liked the name of Simpkins, and to-day he liked it less than ever. On Friday the work-out was light and confined principally to the essentials. But the Scrub paid a brief visit and indulged the First Team substitutes in a ten-minute scrimmage. Because of the dismissal of the regulars, Bert found himself starting the trouble at right half-back, with Tolman beside him and “Ben” Franklin playing full-back. That wasn’t much of a contest, for the Second took things into her own hands and marched up the field after the kick-off in a disgustingly irresistible manner, pushing the opposition contemptuously aside and eventually scoring without once losing possession. Bert, among others, was used rather roughly, and on one occasion caused a cessation of hostilities while Jake soused him with water and pumped air into his lungs. Such occasions can be extremely unpleasant while they last, but once over leave no painful effects, and consequently Bert was both surprised and indignant when Jake, in charge because Mr. Cade had accompanied the regulars to the gymnasium, a few moments later called him out. Not being in such awe of the trainer as he was of the coach, Bert voiced his indignation when he reached the side-line. “What’s the idea, Jake?” he remonstrated. “I’m all right! Losing your breath isn’t anything to stop playing for!” Jake viewed him with a cold and fishy eye and spoke briefly. “Shut your trap,” said Jake. Well, after that there was just one thing to do, and Bert did it. He shut his trap.