"Hello! you fellows. What's up? Thought it was golf, from the crowd over
here." He stretched himself beside them on the grass.

"Golf!" answered Bartlett Cloud contemptuously. "I don't believe you
ever think of anything except golf, Out! Do you ever wake up in the
middle of the night trying to drive the pillow out of the window with a
bed-slat?"

"Oh, sometimes," answered Outfield West smilingly. "There's a heap more
sense in being daft over a decent game like golf than in going crazy
about football. It's just a kid's game."

"Oh, is it?" growled Bartlett Cloud. "I'd just like to have you opposite
me in a good stiff game for about five minutes. I'd show you something
about the 'kid's game!'"

"Well, I don't say you couldn't knock me down a few times and walk over
me, but who wants to play such games--except a lot of bullies like
yourself?"

"Plenty of fellows, apparently," answered the third member of the group,
Wallace Clausen, hastening to avert the threatening quarrel. "Just look
around you. I've never seen more fellows turn out at the beginning of
the season than are here to-day. There must be sixty here."

"More like a hundred," grunted "Bart" Cloud, not yet won over to good
temper. "Every little freshman thinks he can buy a pair of moleskins and
be a football man. Look at that fellow over yonder, the one with the
baggy trousers and straw hat. The idea of that fellow coming down here