thusiastic throngs that would shortly occupy them, to cause them to sway as in a gale with the stress of their applause, to echo to the thunder of thousands of stamping feet.
But now the gridiron was deserted. It was like a battle-field whereon had taken place many a conflict, but which, like the arena of old, had been swept and garnished with sand, effacing the marks of strife, that those who came might not see them. It was all ready for the next battle of brawn, practice for which would soon take place.
Out from the gymnasium came rushing a crowd of lads—in canvas trousers and jackets, and in sweaters, the shoulders of which bulged with great leather patches. Some of the warriors had on leather helmets, and others swung rubber noseguards from their arms by dangling strings.
"Lineup! Line up!" came the cry.
"Come on for some punts!"
"Hey, Phil, send out some drop kicks!"
"Pass the ball!"
"Fall on it! Fall on it!"
The lads were racing about, leaping and jumping. Some were punting, others sending the ball swiftly around by a quick arm and hand motion. Still others, in the excess of their exuberance, were wrestling or tackling.
For it was the first day of practice with the
