“Give me the water,” he said, “and grab your bag. They’ll be pulling out in a second.”

The man had reached into the crate and emptied the dish. Jerry obediently relinquished the bottle and sped back along the platform just as the conductor shouted his warning. A moment later he and the stranger were hustling together through the car door, the train already moving.

“A close call,” laughed the man as he swung his suitcase to a rack.

“Yes, sir,” answered Jerry. “I’m much obliged.”

“So’s the dog, I guess!” The man nodded in friendly fashion and took the empty half of a seat and Jerry went on up the aisle to crowd himself apologetically alongside a stout lady who greeted his advent with a sniff of annoyance. Some twenty minutes later the train reached Annapolis and at the West Street Station many of the passengers alighted. Jerry’s quondam acquaintance, however, remained aboard, and was still in his place when the boy left the car at Church Circle. He looked up as Jerry pushed past with his bag and nodded again.

From the post office corner to the Short Line station was but a few steps and five minutes later Jerry was off again. The two-car train rattled and swayed its way across the Severn. The broad river was aglow in the afternoon sunlight and, eastward, the Naval Academy buildings stood out majestically against an unclouded sky. A bright blue canoe floated downstream at a little distance and Jerry thought he recognized the boy who reposed lazily in the bow. It was a good two miles and a half from the school to the railroad bridge, but some of the hardier mariners thought little of the distance. Jerry, born amongst the North Carolina hills, had had little experience with boats or canoes and was inclined to look askance at water for other than drinking or bathing purposes. But to-day, watching the blue craft slip gracefully along, he half promised himself to test the delights of canoeing this fall.

He was the only passenger to alight at North Bank Station, and, since he had not apprised Mr. Ledyard as to the hour of his arrival, the school carriage, drawn by two black mules and driven by the equally black Cicero, was not there. So he set his valise on one shoulder and started off along the dusty, red-clay road. Now and then he caught a fleeting glimpse of the river, but for most of the way the road was lined with woods, with, here and there, a clearing that gave a view of a summer residence set between highway and river. Occasionally a carriage or automobile jounced past, and at such times Jerry sidled well away to escape the choking clouds of dust. At last, whistling softly a monotonous tune, he came in sight of a privet hedge on his right and the tune died away on his lips. The well-trimmed hedge formed the boundary of the Laurence place, and Major Laurence was a friend of Jerry’s, had been ever since the spring, when, to earn money for his baseball uniform, Jerry had clipped that same hedge and dug the flowerbeds. The Major was a lawyer, and the chance acquaintance had directed Jerry’s ambition in the direction of that profession. It had been the Major who had suggested the reading of history, but the incursion into jurisprudence had been the boy’s idea. Once in sight of the comfortable, rambling house, Jerry looked eagerly for sight of his friend, but, although the Major’s automobile stood before the door, the Major himself was not to be seen.

Jerry had lowered his satchel to one hand now and settled his hat in orderly fashion. A row of tall poplars ran from the hedge to the river and divided the Major’s land from the grounds of the school, and not until Jerry had passed the end of their soldierly rank were the school buildings in sight. Then they met his view all at once: Founders’ Hall with its white cupola, the four dormitories half circling it toward the road, the gymnasium with its greenish glass roof, even the little stable at the far side of the wide expanse of turf. Only the boathouse that lay below the bank of the river was beyond vision. Just across the hedge was the ball field, with its weathered bleachers, and, beyond it, the running track and the gridiron and the long, low grandstand above which the roof of Follen House peered. On the more distant tennis courts white-clad forms ran or darted in the sunlight. Jerry, though, found more interest nearer at hand, for, from beyond the stand that marched with the hedge, came sharp cries and hollow thuds, and at intervals brown objects hurtled into the air.

“Football,” he murmured. “Reckon there ain’t any hurry. I’ll see what they’re doing.” He looked cautiously up and down the road and then as cautiously over the hedge. Although many were in sight beyond the barrier, none was paying heed to him, and he tossed his valise across the hedge and then followed it, landing, since he had not jumped quite high enough, on all fours. Rising, he caught sight, between the tiers of seats, of hurrying forms, varicolored yet running mostly to khaki and the light blue of North Bank. He picked up his valise and made his way around to the nearer end of the stand.

From there it seemed to Jerry that the entire student body, which usually numbered some two hundred, was engaged in football, for, no matter in which direction he looked, youths were trotting or plunging or sprawling about! However, a second estimate reduced their number very considerably. Perhaps, he reflected, there were nearer eighty there than two hundred, although, like the pig in the story, some of them ran around so fast you couldn’t count them! Near the center of the stand a score or so of boys lolled in the seats and looked on, while, along the nearer side line, a few more stood about in critical survey. Jerry, observing the mysterious doings of the players in a frankly puzzled way, moved slowly along toward the spectators. Near by a group of a dozen or so boys in khaki pants and faded blue jerseys with strange leather pads on the shoulders were going through a series of evolutions that seemed to Jerry to possess neither rhyme nor reason. One boy――Jerry recognized him as Don Sears, who had pitched for the scrubs in the spring――was evidently in command. Sears grabbed a football from between the outspread legs of a heavy youth in front of him and, having rattled off in a shrill voice what sounded like an arithmetic problem, tossed the ball to another youth, just which one didn’t appear to matter in the least, and gave him a violent shove. Thereupon the entire group dashed forward, helter-skelter, as though they meant to race at breakneck speed to the other end of the field, every one in every one else’s way――or so it looked――only to pause abruptly a dozen yards further along, place the ball again on the ground and once more become set and tense. Jerry shook his head, at a loss, and then, aware that his wandering along the line had brought him close to one of the onlookers, he sought enlightenment.

“What-all are they doing?” he asked.

The boy beside him turned, and: “Hello, Benson!” he exclaimed. “When did you arrive?” A hand was thrust forth and Jerry shifted his valise and took it.

“Hello,” he answered. “I just got here.”

“Good work! Some one was saying that you weren’t coming back.”

“I couldn’t get here any sooner, Naughton. Say, what-all are they doing?” Jerry nodded at the group whose actions had puzzled him so.

“Who? Those fellows? Why, practicing formations. Haven’t you ever seen football played?”

Jerry shook his head. “I wasn’t here last fall,” he said. “Reckon Sears isn’t telling them what to do right. Every time they start off they have to stop and do it over again.”

Perry Naughton laughed. “It isn’t that bad, Benson! They’re doing what they set out to――after a fashion! Those are mostly new fellows. The first squad’s over yonder. Are you and Hartley together again this year?”

“Yes, and I reckon I’d better be getting on. I don’t know what they’ll be saying to me for being two days late. I heard the goings-on in here and stopped to see what-all was happening. I’m right pleased to know those fellers are doing like they ought, because I thought maybe they were crazy!” Jerry smiled and nodded and went on, pausing several times, though, to return the shouted greetings of friends on the stand. But he kept his goal in mind and a few minutes later he turned in at the doorway of Baldwin House and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Then, a few paces along the hall, he turned the knob of Number 7.