r forget it. Let's make it picturesque and
instructive. Let's show the Faculty that we can obey orders. Let's play
a game of football the way Sillcocks and his tools would like to see it.
You let me pick the team now, and give me to-night and to-morrow morning
to drill them, and I'll bet Kiowa will never burn any property
celebrating."

Bost was there with his head down between his knees and he said he
didn't care--Rearick or Sillcocks or his satanic majesty could pick the
team. As for himself, he was going to leave college and go to herding
hens somewhere over two thousand miles from the Faculty. So we left it
to Rearick and went home to sleep and dream murderous dreams about
meeting profs in lonesome places.

The first thing I saw next morning when I went out of the house was a
handbill on a telegraph pole. It was printed in red ink. It implored
every Siwash student to turn out to the game that afternoon. "New
team--new rules--new results!" it read. "The celebrated Sillcocks system
of football will be played by the Siwash team. Attendance at this game
counts five chapel cuts after Thanksgiving. Admission free. Tea will be
served. You are requested to be present."

Were we present? We were--every one of us that wasn't tied down to a
bed. There was something promising in that announcement. Besides, the
greenest of us were taken in by that chapel-cut business. Besides, it
was free! College students are just like the rest of the world. They'd
go to their great-grandmother's funeral if the admission was free. Our
gang put on big crepe bows, just to be doing something, and marched into
the stadium that afternoon with hats off. It was packed. Talk about
promotion work. Rearick had pasted up bills until all Jonesville was red
in the face. And the Faculty was there, too. Every member was present.
They sat in a big special box and Sillcocks had the seat of honor. He
looked as pleased as though he had just reformed a cannibal tribe. I
suppose the programs did it. They announced once more that the
celebrated Sillcocks system of football as worked out by the coach and
Mr. Keg Rearick would be played in this game by the Siwash team. The
whole town was there too, congested with curiosity. In one big bunch
sat all the Siwash men who had ever played football, in their best
clothes and with their best girls. They were the guests of honor at
their own funeral.

The Kiowa team came trotting out--behemoths, all of them--ready to get