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 *ham," said Wattles earnestly, "may I take the liberty of complimenting you, sir, on that remarkable run you made this afternoon? Really, sir, it was a most stirring performance!"

"Think so, Wattles?" laughed Clif. "Well, you're likely to see much better stuff than that if you stick around."

Wattles shook his head, apparently incredulous. "It doesn't seem possible, sir. The way you evaded those young gentlemen of the opposing side was wonderful. What I call a most clever performance, sir, a really bang-up bit of playing, sir!"

"Why, thanks, Wattles, that's very nice of you. Getting to like our style of football better, eh?"

"I'm beginning to understand it, Mr. Bingham, and I don't hesitate to say that, barring what looks to me like too heavy a stress on what I may call the slugging features, it is a more exciting game than we play, sir."

"But look here, Wattles, we don't slug!"

"No, sir? Oh, very possibly, very possibly. What I alluded to is the part where you face each other, Mr. Bingham, and then—er—mix it up! But perhaps Mister Loring has misled me. I understood from him that using the fists was permissible, quite the usual thing. I have the wrong—er—dope, sir?"

"You certainly have, Wattles!" Clif laughed. "Loring's been 'having' you, as you'd say!"

"Very likely, sir," sighed Wattles. "Thank you."

Cupples Institute, Wyndham's opponent the next