"And you guess right, too, Jack Winters," snapped the girl, her eyes
flashing with spirit. "I'll compose a scathing letter that will give
Maude something to think about from now to Thanksgiving. And let me
say that I'll be meaning every word of it, too. Why, after what we've
seen you boys do in practice I just feel that fellows like Fred, and
some of the others of course, in the bargain, just can't be whipped by
any old school team that plays. Those are my sentiments, and I don't
care who knows them."

"Those Harmony fellows wear the yellow and black of Princeton, you
know," spoke up Lucy Marsh, "and love to call themselves the Tigers.
They think to frighten their opponents by a great exhibition of rough
play, and try to act as if they expected to just walk away with every
game."

"That's right for you, Lucy," chipped in Joel, "but those same tactics
didn't carry weight last summer. Chester didn't seem to be afraid of
being bitten by the tiger, in fact we managed to devour the beast,
hide and all; and let me assure you, girls, we can do it again, don't
you fear."

"How about that, Jack, do you subscribe to Joel's boast?" demanded the
girl, as though she would be ready to place a good deal more
dependence on an opinion from the captain of the eleven than from the
left tackle.

Joel laughed.

"You're going to the wrong quarter for that kind of information,
Lucy," he went on to say. "Jack's too modest to boast, as everyone