23d of
November, bright, clear, and keen. Nature could not have been kinder to
the warriors who, in a few short hours, were to meet upon the yellowing
turf, nor to the thousands who were to assemble and cheer them on to
victory--or defeat.

CHAPTER XX

COWAN BECOMES INDIGNANT

Breakfast at the training-table that morning was a strange meal, to
which the fellows loitered in at whatever hour best pleased them. Many
showed signs of restless slumber, and the trainer was as watchful as an
old hen with a brood of chickens. For some there were Saturday morning
recitations; those who were free were sent out to the field at ten
o'clock and were put through a twenty-minute signal practise. Among
these were Neil and Paul. A trot four times around the gridiron ended
the morning's work, and they were dismissed with orders to report at
twelve o'clock for lunch.

Neil, Paul, and Foster walked back together, and it was the last that
suggested going down to the depot to see the arrival of the Robinson
players. So they turned down Poplar Street to Main and made their way
along in front of the row of stores there. The village already showed
symptoms of excitement. The windows were dressed in royal purple, with
here and there a touch of the brown of Robinson, and the sidewalk
already held many visitors, while others were invading the college
grounds across the street. Farther on the trio passed the bicycle
repair-shop. In front of the door, astride an empty box, sat the
proprietor, sunning himself and keeping a careful watch on the village
happenings. With a laugh Neil left his companions and ran across
the street.

"Good-morning," he said. The little man on the box looked up inquiringly
but failed to recognize his tormentor.

"Mornin'," he grunted suspiciously.

"I wanted to tell you," said Neil gravely, "that your diagnosis was
correct, after all."

"Hey?" asked the little man querulously.

"Yes, it _was_ a cold-chisel that did it," said Neil. "You remember you
said it was."

"Cold-chisel? Say, what you talkin'--" Then a light of recognition
sprang into his weazened features. "You're the feller that owes me a
quarter!" he cried shrilly, scrambling to his feet.

Neil was off on the instant. As the three went on toward the station the
little man's denunciations followed them:

"You come back here an' pay me that quarter! If I knew yer name I'd have
ther law on yer! But I know yer face, an' I'll--"

"His name's Legio