"Mr. Stringham! An omen! An omen!"
He met George at the gate and threw his arms around him. Stringham hurried up. Green crowed.
"I believe we'll lick these fellows or come mighty close to it."
"Of course you'll lick them, Green. Hello, Stringham! May I sit down?"
"The stadium's yours," Stringham said, simply.
As he walked along the line of eager players, smothered in blankets or sweaters, George caught snatches of the curiosity of youth, because of nervousness, too audibly expressed.
"Who's the big fellow?"
"That? Longest kicker, fastest man for his weight ever played the game. George Morton—the great Morton."
"He never played with that leg! What's the matter with his leg? Football?"
George caught no answer. He sat down among the respectful youths, thinking whimsically: