They had made the discovery, by the way, that the proper word of salutation at Brimfield was "Hi"! It was invariably "Hi, Billy"! "Hi, Joe"! and the usual "Hello" was never heard.

Eventually Steve and Tom became properly addicted to the "Hi"! habit, but it was some time before they were able to keep from showing their newness by "Helloing" each other.
The stand became sprinkled with youths and the turf along the edge of the gridiron held many more.

A man of apparently thirty years of age, wearing a grey Norfolk suit and a cap to match, appeared at the corner of the stand just as the bell in Main Hall struck four sonorous peals.
He was accompanied by three boys in togs, one of them Captain Miller.
The coach was a clean-cut chap with a nice face and a medium-sized, wiry figure.

He had sandy hair and eyebrows that were almost white, and his sharp blue eyes sparkled from a deeply tanned face upon which, at the moment, a very pleasant smile played.

But even as Steve and Tom watched him the smile died abruptly and he pulled a black leather memorandum book from a pocket and fluttered its leaves in a businesslike way.
Miller had predicted that this fall some eighty candidates would appear, but he had evidently been over-sanguine.