“That’s the coach over there,” he said, nodding across the gridiron. “He’s a terror, they say.” “You have a cousin at Highland, haven’t you?” asked Gordon. “Is he here to-day?” “No, he’s only in the Second Year Class, and they don’t let any but the Fourth Year fellows go away from school. They’re strict as anything. I’m glad they didn’t send me there. Dad wanted to, but ma and I were dead against it.” Fudge grinned reminiscently. “I told ma I didn’t think I was strong enough for it.” “Fudge, you’re a fakir,” said Gordon cheerfully. Fudge was starting to deny this indignantly when Lanny White, returning from the center of the field where he had won the toss-up, summoned the players. “All right, fellows,” said Lanny. “They kick-off and we take the west goal. Get into it, now, and let’s get the drop on them!” “Now let’s see who’s who,” murmured Gordon as the team trotted out and spread over the west end of the field. “Haley, center; Cable and Kent, guards; Horsford and―― Hello, Will Scott’s playing right tackle! What’s the matter with Wayland?” “Sick; has tonsilitis or something. Who’s that going to play left end, Gordie?” “Jim Grover; and Toll is right end, Cottrell, quarter, Lanny and Rob Hansard, halves, and Felker, fullback. I guess that’s about the way we’ll line up in the Springdale game, barring accidents; only, of course, Way will get in, and Morris Brent.” Gordon leaned forward and spoke along the bench. “Aren’t you going to play, Morris?” Morris shrugged the shoulders under the purple sweater he wore. “I don’t know,” he answered. “Maybe in the last quarter.” Gordon nodded. “Hope so,” he said. And then, to Fudge: “Lanny’s not taking any chances with Morris, is he? There’s the whistle!” Lanny got the kick-off and, unaided by interference, raced back nearly twenty yards before he was stopped. Clearfield set to work with the few plays she had ready, simple attacks from a tandem formation in which the runner relied more on speed and force than deception. Two first downs were gained and then a fumble necessitated a punt, and Felker, who was called on, booted the ball almost straight into the air and Clearfield not only lost possession of the pigskin but some eight yards besides.