"Wow! Look at old Sorreltop run, will you?"

"He's bound to get under it, too. That's going some, fellows! Oh,
shucks!"

"Ha! ha! a fumble and a muff, after all! That's too bad, after
such a great gallop. Now Clack's got the ball, and a clear field
ahead for a run! Go it, you wild broncho! Say, look there, will
you, Tony; Ralph West thinks he can tackle that flying tornado!"

"Will he? Maybe, maybe not, fellows!" called out the ever-skeptical
Jack Eastwick, as he watched the rapidly nearing figures. Jack
was on the regular team, but not playing that afternoon.

"There, he's done it! Wasn't that tackle a screamer, though? That
man West belongs with the regulars. He's too good for the scrub
team. Mark my words, when we go up against Clifford he'll be doing
duty with Columbia's eleven!"

"Bah!" sneered Tony Gilpin. "He's still only a greeny; never saw a
football till he came here last year. Bones Shadduck taught him
all he knows about the game. Take him away from his teacher, and
the little boy would be hopelessly foundered, and you know it,
too, Herman Hooker."

Herman was Columbia's "cheer captain." His sonorous voice aroused
more enthusiasm among the struggling athletes when the prospects
seemed dark and forbidding, than all other elements combined. As
soon as it boomed out over a hotly-contested field, every Columbia
fellow seemed to take on fresh confidence, and in many instances