distinctly said that players should wear only one sweater. But nobody
paid any attention to him. And after a bit, when I was so covered with
sweaters that I was round, like a big ball, the Dean whistled and we got
into line--that is," said Sydney doubtfully, "it was sort of like a
line. There was the President and Neil Fletcher and I on one side, and
all the others, at least thirty of them, on the other. It didn't seem
quite fair, but I didn't like to object for fear they'd say I
was afraid."

"Well, you _did_ have the nightmare," said Mills. "Then what?"

"The other side got into a bunch, and I knew they were playing
tackle-back, although of course they weren't really; they just all stood
together. And I didn't see any ball, either. Then some one yelled 'Smash
'em up!' and they started for us. At that Neil--at least I think it was
Neil--and Prexy--I mean the President--took hold of me, lifted me up
like a bag of potatoes, and hurled me right at the other crowd. I went
flying through the air, turning round and round and round, till I
thought I'd never stop. Then there was an awful bump, I yelled 'Down!'
at the top of my lungs--and woke up. I was on the floor."

Mills laughed, and Sydney took breath.

"At first I didn't know what had happened. Then I remembered the dream,
and all on a sudden, like a flash of lightning, it occurred to me that
_that_ was the way to stop tackle-back!"

"That? What?" asked Mills, looking puzzled.

"Why, the bag of potatoes act," laughed Sydney. "I jumped up, lighted