"You sit at our table, March," announced West. "Digbee's away, and you
can have his seat. Come on." Joel followed, and found himself in the
coveted precincts of the Hampton House table, and was introduced to five
youths, who received him very graciously, and invited him to partake of
such luxuries as pickled walnuts and peach marmalade. Joel was fast
making the discovery that to be vouched for by Outfield West invariably
secured the highest consideration.

"I've been telling March here that it is his bounden duty to go to the
station," announced West to the table at large.

"Of course it is," answered Cooke and Cartwright and Somers, and two
others whose names Joel did not catch. "The wealth, beauty, and fashion
will attend in a body," continued Cooke, a stout, good-natured-looking
boy of about nineteen, who, as Joel afterward learned, was universally
acknowledged to be the dullest scholar in school. "Patriotism
and--er--school spirit, you know, March, demand it." And Cooke helped
himself bountifully to West's cherished bottle of catsup.

"This is Remsen's last year as coach, you see," explained West, as he
rescued the catsup. "I believe every fellow feels that we ought to show
our appreciation of his work by turning out in force. It's the least we
can do, I think. Mind you, I don't fancy football a little bit, but
Remsen taught us to win from St. Eustace last year, and any one that
helps down Eustace is all right and deserves the gratitude of the school
and all honest folk."

"Hear! hear!" cried Somers.

"I'd like very well to go," said Joel, "but I've got a recitation at