Dave and Dan both hastened forward to clasp hands with these tried chums
of other days.

"Seen Hepson?" asked Dan.

"Yes," nodded Farley. "He told us he had gobbled you. Hepson just left
us."

"You're going to be on the eleven!" pressed Dan.

"If we can make it," nodded Farley slowly. "I'd like to play, too, but
I'm hoping that the Navy can hit on some one better than myself."

"Cold feet!" grinned Dan.

"Not exactly," Farley answered, with a slight flush. "But it's a big
thing to play on the Navy's fighting eleven. It seems almost too big a
responsibility for any but a demi-god."

"Demi-gods don't play football," jeered Dan. "They're nothing but idols,
anyway, and they're two thousand years out of date. What we want on the
Navy line is real human flesh and blood."

"There'll be blood on the doorstep of the moon if the Army carries things
away from us this year," predicted Page mournfully.

"Well, all we can do is our best," declared Dave. "We'll do that, too,
and do it mightily. Wow! What's that?"