addressed answered gruffly.
Then, as Davies followed the direction, he mumbled: "Who let that bird
in?"

The latest Harvard hero was lacing a shoe when the former All-American
quarterback came upon him. Davies paused a moment, looking down at the
slim-lined figure sitting on the bench. He watched the slender fingers
as they plucked feverishly at the shoe strings.

Evidently the boy was in a great hurry, Davies thought. He probably
wanted to get out--to meet his sweetheart and to hear her tell him how
wonderful she thought he was. Davies felt a gripping pang. He knew
all about it. He had been there--exactly in Broadhurst's shoes--twenty
years before.

After what seemed a dragging century, the young fellow finished lacing
the shoe, looked up, and started. "Oh! I--I beg your pardon. Did you
want to see me?"

Now that his opportunity for congratulation had come, Davies for some
unknown reason, felt suddenly small and insignificant. He felt the
clear blue eyes of the new Harvard star boring into his with kindly
inquiry, and for once in his life old C. R. D. found himself stammering.

He did manage to extend his hand.

"I--I just wanted to tell you how much I--that is--it did me lots of
good to see---- Oh, hang it! Signals over! What I mean to say is
that I've followed Harvard football for over twenty years. You see, my
name's Carrington R. Davies."

The Harvard quarterback continued shaking the stranger's hand politely;
but there was no sign of recognition at mention of the name, only a
slight frowning of the eyebrows.

C. R. D. noted this and his stammering became several degrees worse.
"I--I--used to play quarterback on the Crimson, too."

The other's eyebrows lifted at this.

"And I--and I---- Well, of course you wouldn't remember; but it was
just such a day as this--twenty years ago--that I---- Perhaps you've
heard tell of it?" C. R. D. brought up lamely, loath to relate the
entire incident and hoping that Broadhurst would recall hearing of it.

The Harvard quarterback shook his head, but there was an interested
gleam in his eyes. "Why, no. I'm sorry, sir; but I----"

"Well," the former All-American quarterback broke in desperately, "I
made a ninety-five-yard run for a touchdown in the last minute of play
and won the game against Yale, much as you did--to-day."

There was a deep-throated chuckle from young Broadhurst. "Then it's
you, sir, who deserve congratulations!"

"No, no. Tha