"Line up! Line up!" called Teddy Naylor. "Get together fellows! Where are you scrubs? We're going to send all of you to the hospital. Come on, Dick, run through some signals."
Eleven panting youths faced eleven others, and the ball went sailing into the midst of the Varsity. George Hall caught it, and ran back with it, well protected by interference. But some of the scrub managed to get through, and downed him before he had gone far.
"Down!" panted George, as he tried to rise from underneath a mound of human forms.
"Down indeed, but too soon," remarked a strange voice, to one side of the scrimmaging lads. They all looked up. Two young men stood looking at the heap of humanity. They were strangers to all the cadets.
"May I ask—perhaps you don't know it, but only members of the academy are allowed out here," spoke Teddy Naylor a bit stiffly.
"Oh, but we were sent for," remarked one of the strangers. "We just came, and we were interested in seeing you play."
"You were sent for?" repeated the captain.
"Yes, that is——"
"Oh, isn't this Mr. Martin?" asked Dick, striding forward and holding out his hand.
"Yes," was the answer from the man with a small black moustache. "I'm Mr. Martin and this is Mr. Spencer," and he indicated his companion.