2 All ready

Dan Vinton was in his second year at Yardley Hall School and was sixteen years of age. He was tall and somewhat lean, although by lean I don't mean what he himself would have called "skinny." He had brown eyes, at once steady and alert, a very straight, well-formed nose, a strong chin and a mouth that usually held a quiet smile. He was in the Second Class this year and, like his companions, was a member of the football team, playing at right end.

Alfred Loring was eighteen, a member of the First Class, captain of the eleven and of the hockey team. He was scarcely an inch taller than Dan, in spite of his advantage in age, and, like Dan, hadn't an ounce of superfluous flesh on his well-built frame. He had a merry, careless face, snapping dark brown eyes, an aquiline nose and hair which he wore parted in the middle and brushed closely to his head. He was as good a quarter-back as Yardley had ever had and this year, with Alf at the head of the team, the school expected great things.

Tom Dyer, his roommate, was a big, rangy, powerful-looking chap, rather silent, rather sleepy looking, with features that didn't make for beauty. But he had nice gray eyes and a pleasant smile and was one of the best-hearted fellows in school. Tom was captain of the basket-ball team, a First Class man and in age was Alf's senior by two months. All three of them were dressed in old trousers and sweaters that had seen much use, and all three wore on the backs of their heads the little dark-blue caps with the white Y's that in school heraldry proclaimed them members of the Yardley Hall Football Team.

A short distance beyond the bridge, on the outskirts of Greenburg, they joined a throng of some eighty or ninety boys. Of this number some thirty or so were attired for running and were engaged in keeping warm by walking or trotting around in circles or slapping their legs. The trio responded to greetings as they pushed through the crowd. Andy Ryan, the little sandy-haired, green-eyed trainer, was in charge of the proceedings and was calling names from a list which he held in his hand.

"All right now, boys," he announced. "You know the way. The first twelve to finish will get places. Get ready and I'll send you off."

"There's Gerald," said Alf, pointing to a youngster who, in a modest attire of sleeveless shirt, short running trunks and spiked shoes, was stepping eagerly about at a little distance. "Looks as though he could run, doesn't he? Good muscles in those legs of his. That's what boxing does for you."

"There he goes," groaned Tom. "Honest, Dan, he thinks boxing will do anything from developing the feet to raising hair on a bald head!"

"That's all right," said Alf stoutly. "It'll develop the muscles of the legs, my friend, just about as much as any other muscles. O-oh, Gerald!"

Gerald Pennimore looked around, smiled, and waved his hand. He was a good-looking youngster of fifteen, with an eager, expressive face, a thin body that needed development, and a coloring that was almost girlish. His eyes were very blue and his skin was fair in spite of the fact that he had tried hard all the summer to get it tanned like Dan's. What bothered him more than all else, however, was the fact that his cheeks were pink and that the least emotion made him redden up like a girl. His hair, which he kept cut as short as possible, was the color of corn tassels, but the summer had streaked it with darker tones and Gerald was hopeful that in time it would all turn to an ordinary shade of brown. Another trial that he had to endure was being thought even younger than he was. It was bad enough to be only fifteen when the fellows you most liked were from one to three years older, but to have folks guess your age as fourteen was very discouraging.

"All ready!" warned Andy Ryan.