"Yes, we're done working, and I'll be glad to walk with you; but
if I'm to sit down at your table, you'll have to wait for me to
dress and clean myself. Will we have time?" And Ralph's face told
how much he appreciated a chance to spend an evening at the home
of Frank Allen, his friend and chum; for his boarding house room
did look a bit cheerless at night time.

"Plenty of time, old fellow. How did the practice go to-day?
Getting in trim, do you think?" asked Frank, who, as a senior, and
the captain and full-back of the regular football squad, was
supposed to have an intense interest in everything that took place
on the practice field day by day.

"Oh, pretty well, I think. I'm not wholly satisfied with myself,
but I believe I'm improving every day," replied the other,
modestly.

Frank looked sideways at his friend, and smiled. He had just been
talking with the coach, and heard what he had to say about the
scrub team. It was already understood between them that two of the
regulars must give way to better men who shone as stars on the
scrub. Columbia wanted her best sons in front, regardless of any
favoritism.

Coach Willoughby was back again, visiting at the home of Buster
Billings' folks. He said the "lure of the leather" was too much
for him, bringing back those dear old college days when he played
on the Princeton eleven, and carried the ball over Yale's line
for a hard-fought victory.