"Yes," answered Neil, "I have."

"I thought so," was the reply. "But you're a freshman, aren't you?"

"Yes," answered Neil, turning to let a low drive from across the
gridiron settle into his arms. "And I guess you're not."

"No, this is my third year. I've been on the team two." He paused to
send a ball back, and then wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "I
was quarter last year."

"Oh," said Neil, observing his neighbor with interest, "then you're
Foster?"

"That's me. What are you trying for?"

"Half-back. I played three years at Hillton."

"Of course; you're the fellow Bob Devoe was talking about--or one of
them; I think he said there were two of you. Which one are you?"

"I'm the other one," laughed Neil. "I'm Fletcher. That's Gale over
there, the fellow in the old red shirt; he was our captain at Hillton
last year."

Foster looked across at Paul and then back at Neil. He was evidently
comparing them. He shook his head.

"It's a good thing he's got dark hair and you've got light," he said.
"Otherwise you wouldn't know yourselves apart; you're just of a height