Neils and Pauls college life began early the next morning when,
sitting side by side in the dim, hushed chapel, they heard white-haired
Dr. Garrison ask for them divine aid and guidance. Splashes and flecks
of purple and rose and golden light rested here and there on bowed head
and shoulders or lay in shafts across the aisles. From where he sat Neil
could look through an open window out into the morning world of greenery
and sunlight. On the swaying branch of an elm that almost brushed the
casement a thrush sang sweet and clear a matin of his own. Neil made
several good resolutions that morning there in the chapel, some of which
he profited by, all of which he sincerely meant. And even Paul, far less
impressionable than his friend, looked uncommonly thoughtful all the way
back to their room, a way that led through the Canucks Vs. Avalanche (11) – 4/1/08 – Vancouver Offense Clip elm-arched nave of
College Place and across the common with its broad expanses of
sun-flecked sward and its simple granite shaft commemorating the heroes
of the civil war.
At nine oclock, with the sound of the pealing bell again in their ears,
with their books under their arms and their hearts beating a little
faster than usual with pleasurable excitement, they retraced their path
and mounted the well-worn granite steps of College Hall for their first
recitation. What with the novelty of it all the day passed quickly
enough, and four oclock found the two lads dressed in football togs and
awaiting the beginning of practise.
There were some sixty candidates in sight, boys–some of them men as far
as years go–of all sizes and ages, several at the first glance
revealing the hopelessness of their ambitions. The names were taken and
fall practise at Erskine began.
The candidates were placed on opposite sides of the gridiron, and half a
dozen footballs were produced. Punting and catching punts was the order
of the day, and Neil was soon busily at work. The afternoon was warm,
but not uncomfortably so, the turf was springy underfoot, the sky was
blue from edge to edge, the new men supplied plenty of amusement in
their efforts, the pigskins bumped into his arms in the manner of old
friends, and Neil was happy as a lark. After one catch for which he had
to run back several yards, he let himself out and booted the leather
with every ounce of strength. The ball sailed high in a long arching
flight, and sent several men across the field scampering back into the
grand stand for it.
“I guess youve done that before,” said a voice beside him. A short,
stockily-built youth with a round, smiling face and blue eyes that
twinkled with fun and good spirits was observing him shrewdly.
“Yes,” answered Neil, “I have.”
“I thought so,” was the reply. “But youre a freshman, arent you?”
“Yes,” answered Neil, turning to let a low drive from across the
gridiron settle into his arms. “And I guess youre not.”
“No, this is my third year. Ive been on the team two.” He paused to
send a ball back, and then wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “I
was quarter last year.”
“Oh,” said Neil, observing his neighbor with interest, “then youre
Foster?”
“Thats me. What are you trying for?”
“Half-back. I played three years at Hillton.”
“Of course; youre the fellow Bob Devoe was talking about–or one of
them; I think he said there were two of you. Which one are you?”
“Im the other one,” laughed Neil. “Im Fletcher. Thats Gale over
there, the fellow in the old red shirt; he was our captain at Hillton
last year.”
