Freshman absorbed these golden words of wisdom as if they had come from Mt. Sinai.
When the practice was called off for the day, he trotted proudly into the field house with the other players, head erect. He even ventured to join in their shouts and banter in the locker room and under the showers. He was one of them. His eyes were shining with something more than the water from the showers when he met Peggy outside the field and walked down University Street with her.
"Did you enjoy the practice?" he asked innocently, hoping secretly that she would make some comment upon his own fine showing.
"Very much," she replied. "The material looks very good. I guess Tate will have a good team this year. Billie Blythe and 'Cardinal' Woolsey and Chester Trask certainly made some fine drop kicks. I don't believe they come any better than those three."
"Some of their kicks were pretty hard to catch," he suggested.
"I know," she commented dryly. "They couldn't blame you for missing a couple. I don't see how you catch those spirals at all. They go so high and come down so fast."
"Just a matter of knack," he announced expertly.
Peggy sighed. He was incorrigible. She knew that there wasn't a shred of egotism in
