“No, I don’t, but stop whispering, for goodness sake, and don’t act like a conspirator! We’re giving the snap away as fast as we can talk. Talk out loud.” And, suiting action to word, Chester began to discuss the weather with startling enthusiasm and vociferation, and kept it up until Lanny dug an elbow into his ribs and begged him to “cut it out, for the love of mud!” And that minute the Springdale team trotted on the field and a boy at the foot of the stand led a weak cheer. Evidently Springdale was too sure of the game to display much enthusiasm. Lanny and Chester gave their attention to the blue-stockinged players who had taken possession of the farther end of the field and, divided into two squads, were going through signals and practicing punts and field-goals. “Recognize any of them?” asked Lanny. Chester shook his head doubtfully. “Some of them look familiar, but I don’t remember their names.” “That’s the same quarter they had last year. I think his name is Kelly.” “Yes, I remember him. And the tall end on the further squad. He was on last year’s eleven. That’s a good punt, Lanny; forty-five yards, easy. I wonder who that chap is.” “The little fellow hasn’t made but one goal so far,” said Lanny. “He’s had about five tries. There goes another, from the thirty. They ought to be pretty evenly matched at punting. What was the name of that center they had? Hill? That’s he coming this way; the fellow over there with the new trousers.” “It wasn’t Hill, though; it was――Heath, wasn’t it?” “That’s it, Heath. I’d like to know how many of last year’s fellows they’ve really got.” “The paper said six, didn’t it?” “Yes, but some of those were subs last year. Get on to the referee with the swell sweater! Lavender and yellow! That’s a peach of a combination, what?”