he regular of to-morrow. They felt like the soldiers in
Napoleon's army where it was said that "every private carried a
marshal's baton in his knapsack." So they fought like tigers, and many a
battle between them and the 'Varsity was worthy of a vaster audience
than the yelling crowds of students that watched it rage up and down the
field.

But the rivalry, though bitter, was also generous. There was nothing
mean or petty about it. After all, it was "all in the family."
Everybody, scrub or 'Varsity, was crazy to win from the other colleges.
If it could be shown that the team could be strengthened thereby, any
'Varsity man would go back to the scrubs without grumbling and "root"
just as hard as ever for the team to make good. It was a pure democracy
where only merit counted and where the individual effaced himself for
the common good of all. So that while the 'Varsity and scrubs were
bitter enemies on the gridiron, they were chums as soon as they had shed
their football "togs."

"We certainly did put up a rotten game to-day," ruminated Tom. "I don't
wonder that the coach was sore. We ought to have eaten those fellows up,
but they walked all over us. What was the matter with us, anyway?"

"Aw," snorted Dick, disgustedly, "why is it that an elephant runs away
from a mouse? They simply threw a scare into us and we lost our nerve.
We can thank our stars it was only a practice game."

"It goes that way sometimes," said Bert philosophically. "It's just the
same in other games. I've seen the Giants and Athletics play like a lot
of schoolboys. One fellow will muff an easy fly and then the whole
infield will go to pieces. They'll fumble and boot anything that comes
along."

"Yes," assented Tom, "and the pitchers get theirs too. There's Matty,
the king of them all. There are days, when even Ty Cobb, if he were
batting against him, couldn't do anything but fan. Then again, there
are other days when he hasn't anything on the ball but his glove. I saw
him in an opening game in New York before thirty-five thousand people,
when he was batted out of the box like any bush leaguer."

"Even Homer sometimes nods and Milton droops his wing," quoted Dick. "If
our playing is rank sometimes, it's a comfort to feel that we have lots
of company. But speaking of baseball, fellows, how do you think it
compares with chasing the pigskin?"

"Well," said Bert slowly, "it's hard to tell. They're both glorious
games, and personally I'm like the d