“Jack, I don’t see Bummie Booth anywhere on the train.  I guess he must have been left behind.”

With much haste and worry Jack made a hurried search of the entire train to find Booth sitting in the last seat in the rear car with a broad grin on his face.

Jack’s training experience was a very broad one.  He trained many victorious teams at Harvard after he left Princeton and was finally trainer at Annapolis.  A pronounced decoration that adorns “Scottie” is a much admired bunch of gold footballs and baseballs, which he wears suspended from his watch chain—­in fact, so many, that he has had to have his chain reinforced.  If you could but sit down with Jack and admire this prized collection and listen to some of his prized achievements—­humorous stories of the men he has trained and some of the victories which these trophies designate you would agree with me that no two covers could hold them.

But we must leave Jack for the present at home with his family in Sandy Hook Cottage, Drummore by Stranraer, Scotland, in the best of health, happy in his recollection of a service well rendered and appreciated by every one who knew him.

Jim Robinson

There was something about Jim Robinson that made the men who knew him in his training days refer to him as “Dear Old Jim,” and although he no longer cries out from the side lines “trot up, men,” a favorite expression of his when he wanted to keep the men stirring about, there still lives within all of us who knew him a keen appreciation of his service and loyalty to the different colleges where he trained.

He began training at Princeton in 1883 and he finished his work there.  How fine was the tribute that was paid him on the day of his funeral!  Dolly Dillon, captain of the 1906 team, and his loyal team mates, all of whom had been carefully attended by Jim Robinson on the football field that fall, acted as pallbearers.  There was also a host of old athletes and friends from all over the country who came to pay their last tribute to this great sportsman and trainer.

Mike Murphy and Jim Robinson were always contesting trainers.  At Princeton that day with the team gathered around, Murphy related some interesting and touching experiences of Jim’s career.

Jim’s family still lives at Princeton, and on one of my recent visits there, I called upon Mrs. Robinson.  We talked of Jim, and I saw again the loving cups and trophies that Jim had shown me years before.

Jim Robinson trained many of the heroes of the old days, Hector Cowan being one of them.  In later years he idolized the playing of that great football hero, John DeWitt, who appreciated all that Jim did to make his team the winner.  The spirit of Jim Robinson was comforting as well as humorous.  No mention of Jim would be complete without his dialect.

[Illustration:  THE ELECT]

He was an Englishman and abused his h’s in a way that was a delight to the team.  Ross McClave tells of fun at the training table one day when he asked Jim how to spell “saloon.”  Jim, smiling broadly and knowing he was to amuse these fellows as he had the men in days gone by, said:  “Hess—­Hay—­Hell—­two Hoes—­and—­a Hen.”