n," called Ted Foster over his shoulder.

"Hey? What?" shrieked the repair man.

"Legion!"

"I don't know what you say, but I'll report that feller ter th'
authorities!"

Then a long whistle broke in upon the discussion, and the three rushed
for the station platform.

From the vantage-point of a baggage-truck they watched the Robinson
players and the accompanying contingent descend from the train. There
were twenty-eight of the former, heavily built, strapping-looking
fellows, and with them a small army of coaches, trainers, and
supporters. Neil dug his elbow against Paul.

"Look," he said, "there's your friend Brill."

And sure enough, there was the Robinson coach who had visited the two at
Hillton a year before and tried to get them to go to the rival college.

"If you'd like to make arrangements for next year, Paul," Neil whispered
mischievously, "now's your time."

But Paul grinned and shook his head.

The players and most of the coaches tumbled into carriages and were
taken out to Erskine Field for a short practise, and the balance of the
arrivals started on foot toward the hotel. The three friends retraced
their steps. Luckily, the proprietor of the bicycle repair-shop was so
busy looking over the strangers that they passed unseen in the little
stream. There remained the better part of an hour before lunch-time, and
they found themselves at a loss for a way to spend the time. Foster
finally went off to his room, as he explained airily, "to dash off a
letter on his typewriter," a statement that was greeted with howls of
derision from the others, who, for want of a better place, went into
Butler's bookstore and aimlessly looked over the magazines and papers.

It was while thus engaged that Paul heard his name spoken, and turned to
find Mr. Brill smilingly holding out his hand.

"I thought I wasn't mistaken," the Robinson coach said as they shook
hands. "And isn't that your friend Fletcher over there?"

Neil heard and came over, and the three stood and talked for a few
minutes. Mr. Brill seemed well pleased with the football outlook.

"I'll wager you gentlemen will regret not coming to us after to-day's
game is over," he laughed. "I hear you've got something up your sleeve."

"We have," said Neil.

"So I heard. What's the nature of it?"

"It's muscle," answered Neil gravely.

The coach laughed. "Of course, if it's a secret, I don't want to hear
it. But I think you're safe to get beaten, secret o