"Watch your opposing backs, Stover. Keep your punts low and away from them so as to gain as much on the ground as you can. That's it! Here, you center men, you've got to hold longer than that! You're hurrying the kick too much. Get it off clean, Stover. Not so good. Remember what I say about placing your punt. You're going to be out-kicked fifteen yards; make up for it in brain work. All right, Dana?"
"That'll do," said Dana, after a moment's hesitation.
"All over?" said Dink, dazed.
"All over!"
The scrubs, with a yell, broke up, cheering the varsity, and being cheered in turn. Stover, with a sinking, realized that the week of preparation had gone and that as he was he must come up to the final test—the final test before the thousands that would blacken the arena on the morrow.
The squad went rather silently, each oppressed by the same thought.
"We'll go out to the country club for the night," said Tompkins's shrill voice. "Get your valises ready. And now stop talking football until we tell you. Go out on the trot now!"
From the gymnasium he went back to the house. As he came up the hall he heard a hum of voices from his room.
"Dink's got the nerve, but what the deuce can he do against that Princeton line? Do you know how much he weighs? One hundred and fifty."
Stover listened, smiled grimly. If they only knew his real weight!