hurrying up. Joe Hooker had once upon a time been quite a noted
college athlete until an accident put him "out of the running," as he
always explained it.

He worked in one of Chester's big mills, and when a revolution in
outdoor sports swept over the hitherto sleepy manufacturing town, Joe
Hooker gladly consented to assume the congenial task of acting as
coach to the youngsters, being versed in all the intricacies of gilt-
edged baseball and football.

It had been very much owing to his excellent work as a severe drill-
master that Chester, during the season recently passed, had been able
actually to win the deciding game of baseball of the three played
against the hitherto invincible Harmony nine.

Mr. Charles Taft, principal owner of the mill in question, was in full
sympathy with this newly aroused ambition on the part of the Chester
boys to excel in athletic sports. He himself had been a devoted
adherent of all such games while in college, and the fascination had
never entirely died out of his heart. So he saw to it that Joe Hooker
had considerable latitude in the way of afternoons off, in order that
the town boys might profit by his advice and coaching.

"A clever run, that, Joel," he now told the bedraggled boy who had
just been downed, after dragging two of his most determined opponents
several yards. "The ball still belongs to your side. Another yard, my
lad, and you would have made a clean touchdown. A few weeks of hard
practice like this and you boys, unless I miss my guess, ought to be
able to put old Chester on the gridiron map where she belongs. Now
let's go back to the tackle job again, and the dummy. Some of you, I'm