Red Dog and the Egghead staggered down into the village and over to the circle of houses, throwing out their arms like returning bacchanalians. "Free pancakes!" "Hungry Smeed's broken the record!" "Pancakes at Conover's--free pancakes!" The word jumped from house to house, the campus was emptied in a trice. The road became choked with the hungry stream that struggled, fought, laughed and shouted as it stormed to Conover's. "Free pancakes! Free pancakes!" "Hurrah for Smeed!" "Hurrah for Hungry Smeed!!" [Illustration: chapter title decoration] THE RUN THAT TURNED THE GAME In this same fall of Hungry Smeed's arrival, when the Dickinson, the Cleve, the Woodhull, the Griswold, the Hamill, the Kennedy, and the Davis, were each separately convinced that the faculty was seeking to prevent its winning the football championship, by filling the house with boys under weight and under size, there arrived at the Kennedy the now celebrated "Piggy" Moore. He did not come on the top of the stage as new boys should, but drove up in a carriage, in the company of an aunt, who departed with misgivings, after kissing him in the full sight of the campus. For she had raised Piggy on the bottle of gentle manners and rocked him in the cradle of innocent and edifying ambitions until the manly age of sixteen. His hands were soft and manicured, he entered a room with grace and left it with distinction. His body was swathed in plumpness. His face was chubby and well nourished, with fat, indolent eyes and wide nostrils. He was five feet eight and weighed a hundred and fifty. Without embarrassment or anxiety he went to his room, removed his coat, folded it neatly on a chair, turned up his sleeves and proceeded to spread on his bureau a toilet-set of chaste silver. He was neatly arranging eight pairs of shoes, carefully treed, when his name was shouted from the hall. "Oh, Moore! Hello there!" He emerged hurriedly to find Captain Hasbrouck in football togs, eyeing him critically and without enthusiasm. "Football practice, Moore!" "It will take me an hour or so, I'm afraid," said Moore, smiling politely, "that is, to put my things in order and get thoroughly unpacked." "Sir!" Piggy was surprised. The voice was harsh, rude and ominous, and the figure of Hasbrouck quite obscured the doorway. "Yes, sir!" he said hastily. "I'll be right down, sir." "Have you got any football togs?" said Hasbrouck, looking at the toilet set. "No, sir." "A sweater?" "No, sir." "Well, we only want a little light practice. Get your things to-night in the village. On the jump now!"