you here.”

“I should prefer to stand on my own legs,” said Irving. “I shan’t
advertise it round that I have a football brother.”

“Oh, it won’t be necessary for you to do that; things have a way of
leaking out.” Barclay laughed as he took his departure.

As it happened, the next day Louis Collingwood, the captain of the
School eleven, went to Barclay to consult him about the outlook for the
season.

“It seems to me we’ll have a good School team,” said Collingwood, “but
no second eleven capable of giving them hard practice—the kind they’ll
need to beat St. John’s. If we could only arrange one or two games with
outside teams, to put us into shape—”

“I was thinking of that,” said Barclay. “I wonder if we mightn’t get the
Harvard Freshmen up here. They have a good eleven, apparently.”

“Yes, awfully good, from all that the papers say. Don’t you suppose
their schedule is filled up?”

“It may be—but perhaps they could give us a date. Suppose you come over
to my house this evening and we’ll send a letter off to their captain.
And I’m sure”—Barclay threw the remark out in the most casual
manner—“Mr. Upton will be glad to approach them for us through his
brother.”

“His brother? Who’s that?”