Each night on the Kennedy steps, the council of war convened and plans were discussed in utter gravity for temporarily crippling and eliminating from the contest Turkey, Slugger-Jones, Hickey and the Butcher. For, of course, it was conceded that Jock, Tom Walsh and Fire Crackers would probably be maimed for life by the brutal and unscrupulous enemy. Piggy, whose critical sense of humour had been under early disadvantages, took this as exact truth and beheld the horrible day arrive with an absolute conviction that it would be his last. He did not sleep during the night; he could eat nothing during the day; his fingers trembled and snarled up the lacings as he forced himself into his football clothes. Then he stood a long moment, viewing his white face in the mirror--the last look, perhaps--and went weakly to join the squad below. He heard nothing of the magnificent address of Jock to his followers; one idea only was in his head: to sell his life as dearly as possible. While the captains conferred and tossed for position, the two teams, face to face at last, paced up and down, eyeing each other with contempt, breathing forth furious threats. The Egghead assured Fatty Harris that the first scrimmage would be his last. Fatty Harris returned the compliment and suggested that the Egghead leave a memorandum for the hearse. The Coffee Cooler looked Buffalo Brown over and sneered; Keg Smith did as much to the Butcher and laughed. The diminutive Spider at right end, approached his dear friend Legs Brockett, his opponent, and muttered through his teeth: "I'm going to slug you!" While these friendly salutations were taking place, Flea Obie and Wash Simmons, the Dickinson halves, approached Piggy, who, sick at heart, was stamping his feet and churning his arms to convey to Red Dog, opposite, the impression that he was thirsting for his blood. Wash gave Piggy one withering glance and said loudly to the Red Dog: "This fellow's a quitter. He's got yellow in his eyes. Smash him good and hard, Red Dog. Don't waste any time about it, either." "He's got a chicken liver," said Red Dog, who looked a reed beside the sturdy Piggy. "He shuts his eyes when he tackles! I'll fix him. Huh!" "Ah, go on now, go on, go on," said Piggy, with a desperate attempt at lightheartedness. Flea Obie, lovely no longer in mud-stained jacket and pirate band around his forehead, strode up to Piggy and added: "Old Sport, let me give you a word of advice. When we strike your end, the best thing you can do is to lie down _quick and soft_. _Savez?_" Luckily for Piggy, whose imagination was panic-driven by this perfectly innocuous braggadocio, the torrent of conversation was checked by a cry of exultation. The Kennedy had won the toss and chose the kickoff. Bat Finney, umpire from the Fourth Form, called the two teams together and said solemnly: