Monday afternoon marked the last day of scrimmage for the varsity. Coach Phillips had decided to spend the remaining two days at secret signal practice. Consequently the college turned out almost to a man to watch their idol pigskin chasers maul the scrubs as a final demonstration of their ability to whip Pennington. Inspired by the wild cheers of the student body and the realization that the season's biggest game was only two days distant, the varsity fairly outdid itself.
But the faithful second team was resolved to make the varsity earn every touchdown that they secured and fought fiercely to stop each play. For fifteen minutes the battered seconds withstood the onslaught and actually succeeded in pushing across a touchdown themselves. After this the game became a rout and finally ended in a 56 to 7 score. Both elevens left the field, physically fit and in good spirits, but dead tired.
"Whew!" gasped Benz, throwing a shoe the length of the locker room, "Talk about marathon races! I'll bet I ran ten or twenty miles up and down the field scoring touchdowns."
"Great snakes! Did you hear that, guys?" broke in Knox, a second string man, "The swelled head only scored two touchdowns himself and yet he runs ten or twenty miles! What were you doing, Benz, playing solitaire?"
"Never you mind," retorted Benz, amid laughter; then, seeing a way out: "Possibly, Knox, you have never heard of Miles Standish. That's the kind of Miles I run."
"Zowie!"
"Take him out!"
"Stow it!"
"As bright as mud!"
"Call a doctor!"