red-and-black striped stockings were surmounted by a pair of soiled and
patched moleskin trousers. His crimson jersey had faded at the shoulders
to a pathetic shade of pink, and one sleeve was missing, having long
since "gone over to the enemy." In contrast to these articles of apparel
was his new immaculate canvas jacket, laced for the first time but a
moment before. But he looked the football man that he was from head to
toe, and Joel admired him immensely and was extremely proud when, as he
was passing, Blair called him over and introduced him to Remsen. The
latter shook hands cordially, and allowed his gaze to travel
appreciatingly over Joel's five feet eight inches of bone and muscle.

"I'm glad to know you, March," he said, "and glad that you are going to
help us win."

The greeting was so simple and sincere that Joel ran down the field a
moment later, feeling that football honors were even more desirable than
before. To-day the throng of candidates had dwindled down to some forty,
of whom perhaps twenty were new men. The first and second elevens were
lined up for the first time, and Joel was placed at left half in the
latter. An hour of slow practice followed. The ball was given to the
first eleven on almost every play, and as the second eleven were kept
entirely on the defensive, Joel had no chance to show his ability at
either rushing or kicking. Remsen was everywhere at once, scolding,
warning, and encouraging in a breath, and the play took on a snap and
vim which Wesley Blair, unassisted, had not been able to introduce.
After it was over, Joel trotted back with the others to the gymnasium
and took his first shower bath. On the steps outside was West, and the
two boys took their way together to the Academy Building.

"Did you hear Remsen getting after Bart Cloud?" asked West.