Style.
_Q.B._


Coots. Wentworth.
_L.H.B. R.H.B._


Hastings, Captain.
_F.B._


Clifford was to kick off.

Hastings, the big captain, stood there, poising himself for the
effort, and every eye was glued upon his really fine figure. Hastings
knew it, and purposely lingered just a trifle longer than he would
have done had there been no mass of spectators hedging in the field
on all sides in a solid bank of humanity.

There was a shrill whistle, the referee's signal, and it called
into life the twenty-two motionless figures that stood about the
field. Big Hastings ran forward, glancing sharply about to see
that his men were on the alert, and the next moment his shoe made
a great dent in the side of the new yellow ball. Away it sailed
into the air, far over toward Columbia's territory.

Straight toward Lanky Wallace, the plucky little quarter-back, it