Therefore Greg Holmes wouldn't play.
At last came the fateful day, the Saturday after Thanksgiving.
Early the Brigade of Midshipmen was marched over to the trolley line, where a long string of cars waited to receive them.
"We want an extra car to-night," one first classman called jovially to the car inspector who was in charge of the transportation.
"We want that extra car to bring back the Army scalp in." All the way to Baltimore and thence to Philadelphia, Dave Darrin was unusually quiet.

Dalzell, on the other hand, made noise enough for both of them.
"Darry hasn't the sulks over anything, has be ?" Wolgast anxiously asked Dalzell.
"Don't you believe it," Dan retorted.
"But he's so abominably quiet." "Saving all his breath to use on the field." "Are you sure Darry is in form ?" persisted Wolgast.
"Yes.

Wait and see." "I'll have to," sighed Wolgast, with another sidelong glance at Darrin's emotionless face.
The Navy team and subs.

arrived at dressing quarters nearly an hour before it would be necessary to tog.
As the West Point men were on hand, also, Dave stepped outside.
Almost the first man he met was a tall, slim, soldierly looking fellow in the cadet gray.
"Aren't you Fields ?" asked Dave, holding out his hand.
"Yes," replied the cadet, giving his own hand.
"And you're Darrin---one of the few men we're afraid of." "Does Prescott play to-day ?" Dave asked eagerly.
The West Pointer's brow clouded.
"No," he replied.

"Mr.Prescott isn't a subject for conversation at the Military Academy.