it's like this. Clint there can tell you that just the other day I was a
thing of beauty. My slender ankles were sheer and silken delights.
But--and here's the weepy place, fellows--when I disrobed I discovered
that the warmth of the weather had affected the dye in those gladsome
garments and my little footies were like unto the edible purple beet of
commerce. And I paid eighty-five cents a pair for those socks, too.
I--I'm having them washed."

When the laughter had ceased, Ruddie, who seemed a serious-minded youth,
began a story of an uncle of his who had contracted blood-poisoning from
the dye in his stockings. What ultimately happened to the uncle Clint
never discovered, for the others very rudely broke in on Ruddie's
reminiscences and the conversation became general and varied. The boy
next to Clint, whose name he learned later was Freer, politely inquired
as to how Clint liked Brimfield and whether he played football. To the
latter question Clint confided that he did, although probably not well
enough to stand much of a chance here.

"Oh, you can't tell," replied Freer encouragingly. "Come out for
practice tomorrow and see. We're got a coach here that can do wonders
with beginners."

"Of course I mean to try," said Clint. "I reckon you wear togs, don't
you, when you report?"

"Yes, come dressed to play. You'll get a workout for a week or so,
anyway. Three-thirty is the time. You won't feel lonesome. We've got
more fellows here this year than we ever had and I guess there'll be a
gang of new candidates. Got a lot of last year's 'varsity players left,
too, and we ought to be able to turn out a pretty fair team."