The senior himself was an enthusiastic admirer of the game, and one way or another did much to encourage it by his presence on the field at all the big matches, and if any of the lads, such as myself, Brown, Rose, Wilson, or M'Nab wanted away to play in a big affair, a hint reaching the governor's ears to that effect was amply sufficient. The manager, however, was of a different sort, he hated football like poison. He even relegated the grand game to a pastime suitable for pure and unadulterated lunatics, those, as he put it, "who were too daft to get into Gartnavel." Fancy that! Woe betide the unfortunate half-back or forward, who in a weak moment relied on the magnanimity of "Sour Plums," as he was called, to let him off to a match, without first consulting the governor himself. Sometimes M'Nab forgot to do so, and as his club were frequently in great straits to get him to play, he had to steep his brains to think on a strategic movement to get free, and succeeded; but sometimes with the aid of a "crammer." Brown, for reasons best known to himself, but which will duly come out as my story advances, was very anxious to be at the "draw," and accordingly duly appeared at the Marie Stuart Hall, Crosshill. There were a lot of pale faces in the room when Pate drew the Queen's Park, Dick Wallace the "Vale," Bill Weldon, Dumbarton, and Sandy M'Bean the Rangers. A rosy-cheeked, country-looking lad belonging to the Q.P. drew Cowlairs, and a general titter ran through the august assembly when that same lad remarked, "he was quite satisfied with his draw, the other crack clubs notwithstanding." Tom Vincent got Kilmarnock Athletic, Alf. Grant the Clyde, Blower Fleming drew the Heart of Midlothian, and Bill Fairfield the Hibernian. I was unlucky enough to secure one of the many insignificant clubs who never survived the first round, and so my "sov." was a dead letter. The entire "sweep" came to a fine round sum, as the subscribers included a good many of the rank and file of football enthusiasts, and even two "football-daft" members of the upper strata of the Glasgow Police Force, and three of the Fire Brigade, went the length of taking a couple of tickets. There was also Luke Wood, the representative of the "Kick-off," who knew a thing or two about the game. He was in for a pair of tickets, too, and drew the Invincible and Morning Star. He was thoroughly disgusted at the prospect (more particularly as he had been one of the leading hands in getting up the "sweep"); but, as the Yankees say, he gradually "cooled himself down," and got thoroughly reconciled to his loss.