for a series of plays. Then Tug would call out some eloquent gibberish
like "Seventy-'leven-three-teen," and that meant that on the first
down the full-back was to come in on the run, and take the ball
through the enemy's left-guard and tackle; on the second down the
right half-back was to crisscross with the left half-back; and on the
third down the right-guard was to scoot round the left-end.

The beauty of this old scheme was that it caught the enemy napping:
while he was lounging and waiting for the loud signal, the ball was
silently put in play before he was ready. On the fatal day Tug found
that the scheme was well worth the trouble it took. It has its
disadvantages in the long run, but on its first appearance at Kingston
it fairly made the varsity team's eyes pop with amazement.

Tug did not put into play the whole strength of his eleven, but
practised cautiously, and instructed his team in the few ruses Clayton
seemed to be fond of. He was looking forward to the occasion when a
complete game was to be played before the townspeople between the
varsity and the scrub; and Clayton was looking forward to this same
day, and promising himself a great triumph when the Academy and the
town should see what a rattling eleven he had made up.

The day came. The whole Academy and most of the town turned out and
filled the grand stand and the space along the side lines. It was to
be the first full game of the season on the Academy grounds, and every
one was eager to renew acquaintance with the excitements of the fall
before. You have doubtless seen and read about more football games
than enough, and you will be glad to skip the details of this contest.

It will be unnecessary to do more than suggest how Clayton was simply