“Oh, I say, Bayliss, look-----”

“What-----”

“Hudson!”

“What about him?”

“Quick!”

“Well, you ninny,”

“Hudson is going in the-----”

With a cry partly of doubting, partly of rage, Bayliss leaped forward, crowding out Dodge in order to get a better view.

Hudson was actually ascending the gym. steps, and going up as though he meant business.

“He’s gone over to—–­to—–­them!” gasped Bert Dodge.

“The mean traitor!” hissed Bayliss.

Hudson did, indeed, brave it out by going straight on into the gym.  As he entered some of the fellows already there glared at him dubiously.  But Hudson met the look bravely.

“Hullo!” cried Dick.  “There’s Hudson!”

Coach Morton heard, from another part of the gym.  Turning around, the coach greeted tile reformed ‘sorehead’ with a nod and a smile.  Then some of the fellows spoke to Hudson as that young man moved by them.  In a few moments more, Hudson began to feel almost at home among his own High School comrades.

Then Drayne, another ‘sorehead,’ showed up.  He, too, was treated as though nothing had happened.  When Trenholm, still another of the “soreheads,” looked in at the gym., he appeared very close to being afraid.  When he saw Hudson and Drayne there he hastened forward.  By and by Grayson came in.  At the window across the street Bayliss and Dodge had checked off all four of these “deserters” and “traitors.”

“Well, they’ll play, anyway—–­either on school or on second,” muttered Bert, to himself.  “Oh, dear!  Just think the way things have turned out.”

These four deserters from the “soreheads” were all out of that very select crowd who did respond to the football call.

Promptly at three o’clock Coach Morton called for order.  Then, after a very few remarks, he called for the names of all who intended to enter the football training squad for this season.

“And let every fellow who thinks he’s lazy, or who doesn’t like to train hard and obey promptly, keep his name off the list,” warned the coach dryly.  “I’ve come to the conclusion that what we need in this squad is Army discipline.  We’re going to have it this year!  Now, young gentlemen, come along with your names—–­those of you who really believe you can stand Spartan training.”

“I think I might draw the line at having the fox—–­or was it a wolf—–­gnawing at my entrails, as one Spartan had to take it,” laughed one youngster.

“Guess again, or you’d better stay off the squad this year,” laughed the coach.  “This is going to be a genuinely rough season for all weaklings.”

There was a quick making up of the roll.

“Tomorrow afternoon, at three sharp, you’ll all report on the athletic field,” announced Coach Morton, when he had finished writing down the names.  “Any man who fails to show up tomorrow afternoon will have his name promptly expunged from the squad rolls.  No excuses will be accepted for failure tomorrow.”