Clement Henning grinned sheepishly. He was a big First Class fellow who had played guard for two years on scrub teams. He was steady, hard working, good-natured and slow. Last season, for a brief and glorious fortnight, he had been transferred to the big team, but he couldn’t hold down his job there, and had returned, untroubled, it appeared, to the Scrub. Clem could play football to a certain point, but he never could get beyond that point. It is probable that all the coaches in the country, working together on him in relays, would have failed to make Clem play any better than he had played last year or would play this. But if he lacked football genius he was long on popularity. Every one knew Clem Henning and every one liked him. The cheer wasn’t given, but the selection met with sounds of approval from all. “Cocky” went on, briskly now: “We’re going to start right at the very bottom, fellows. No one who can’t make a good tackle or handle the ball properly is good enough for this outfit. We’ll have some passing now to warm up, and as soon as the First is through with the dummy we’ll go down there, and eat some dirt. We’ll divide the squad, Captain Henning, and you’ll take half and I’ll take half. All right, let’s have those balls, Hoppin. Over here, a bunch of you. Now then, Scrub, let’s get going!” CHAPTER VIII MR. BINGHAM PAYS A VISIT That first feeling of exaltation didn’t last long, but it had served its purpose. The Wyndham Scrub members had shared it together and, since the experience of a common emotion creates a bond, had become imbued with a solidarity that was to prove the foundation of greater unity and cohesion. Which was all that Mr. Babcock had expected.