Although Bartlett was one of the smaller colleges of the state, it was also one of the most popular. Proud alumni pointed to the fact that more men, afterwards become great, had graduated from Bartlett than any other college of its size in the world. Besides, Bartlett had gained a wide reputation and much respect from the larger universities and colleges because of her ability to turn out winning athletic teams. True, Bartlett had never as yet succeeded in downing the State University or defeating many of the bigger colleges, but she had always given a good account of herself. Fond hopes were held out by students as well as alumni that, in the near future, Bartlett would clearly demonstrate her superiority in some branch of athletics over the best teams in that part of the country.

The nearest Bartlett ever came to any real prominence was early in the history of the institution. That year, the newly founded college turned out a wonderful football team, challenging and defeating Pennington, claimants of the State Championship, by a 17 to 6 score. After this truly unexpected victory Bartlett asked and received a game with the State University, but this eleven soundly trounced them, 28 to 7, and all aspirations for State honors fled.

However, the defeat of Pennington, which was the second largest institution of learning in the state, put Bartlett forever in the select class. The defeat also gave Bartlett a bitter rival. The drubbing at the hands of the smaller college had been a hard pill for the Penningtonites to swallow and in after years they sought to wipe out the blot upon their former record.

Spurred on by their previous success Bartlett always provided stiff opposition against Pennington and much interest as well as excitement was manifested over contests between the two colleges although at the present time, Pennington seemed to have had the best of the argument. To venture a statement that Pennington did hold the upper hand, however, while speaking to a Bartlett student, would be the means of placing your life in extreme jeopardy.

The college campus at Bartlett was uniquely laid out in the form of a great wagon wheel. From the hub of this wheel, cement sidewalks, acting figuratively as spokes, led the way to the outer rim which consisted of a wide, circular walk passing entirely about the edge of the grounds. All of the college buildings were grouped about this large circle so that they were readily accessible from any point on the campus. One needed only to select the spoke leading up to the building he wished to visit and a few minutes walk would take him there. Great elm trees, whose foliage and limbs so beautifully shaded the well kept grounds, made the campus a place to be admired by students and visitors alike.

The next morning, after his eventful night, Cateye was hurrying to chapel when someone hailed him from behind.

"I say, Cateye! Wait a minute, will you?"

It was Pole's voice and Cateye turned about questioningly.

"Well, what is it?"

"Do you mind telling me what that noise was I heard in your room last night? You know my room is right next to yours, …"

"Noise! What noise?" queried Cateye, forgetting himself for the moment.

"That's just it! What noise? It sounded like the distant rumbling of thunder. In fact it was so realistic that I got up and shut my window to keep the rain from beating in before I tumbled to the fact that the manufactured product was coming from your room!"

"Oh!" laughed Cateye, a light beginning to dawn, "That's only Judd; he snores."

"Snores! Great guns, he booms! Why, I'd have sworn the walls shook last night. And say,—does he do anything else?"

"Talks some," admitted Cateye, reluctantly.

"Indeed!" scoffed Pole, making a beautiful pair of arches with his eyebrows. "I'll say he talks some! In fact if he talks some more tonight,—well, tell him to BEWARE,—that's all!"

"You can hardly blame a man for making some disturbance who plows a three acre field in one night," grinned Cateye.

"Is that what he did?"

"Yes,—in his sleep."

"How do you stand it?"

"I don't stand it; I put up with it."

"Surely you don't intend to keep that rube as a room-mate! Why, that'll make you the laughing stock of the college. The idea of rooming with a guy that plows fields in his sleep. Deucedly funny. Bah!"

"He struck rocks, too!"

"When? Where?"

"Plowing that field of his."

"Well, I hope he strikes a boulder to-night and breaks his plow so he can't work any more. Either you get rid of that guy or I'll change my room!"

"Go ahead,—change your room!" Cateye looked at Pole defiantly.

"I will, if that nut starts to thunder again tonight!"

Pole departed with a vicious stride, giving one the resemblance of a man on stilts.

Cateye stood watching him, an amused smile on his face.

Three weeks passed quickly. During this time Judd underwent a trying period. Wherever he chanced to go he provoked laughter and was made the object of many petty but harmless jokes. There was no doubt about it, Judd was slow, but he was also good natured and when he saw the joke, enjoyed it as much as anyone. Largely through Cateye's untiring efforts his rough edge was gradually being worn away, and, while he had formed few friends, still he had made no real enemies. Most of the fellows took him as a huge joke.

Cateye had written to Bob: "Judd is a great scout and getting on fine. He certainly has the build for a great football player. I've been giving him pointers and I'm anxious for practice to begin so I can see how good he really is."

After the first night Judd talked only during waking hours, a fact which greatly astonished Cateye. True, Judd still snored some, but he could easily be forgiven for this minor offense so long as he did not take a notion to plow any more fields. Moreover Cateye had succeeded in breaking Judd in to soft, downy beds and in making him strive to do things much as other fellows would.

Two weeks later as Cateye was crossing the campus he was met by Benz who slapped him joyfully on the back.

"Football practice begins to-morrow! Since Bob did not come back this year the eleven will have to meet and elect a new captain."

"That's so," recalled Cateye, "Be great to get back in harness again, eh, Benz?"

"You bet! Say,—d'you suppose Rube'll be out to-morrow?"

"I don't know."

"I hope he is. That fellow is the richest joke that ever hit Bartlett college. Why, if he doesn't know any more about football than he does about table manners, …"

"See here, Benz!" retorted Cateye, impatiently, "haven't you had about enough fun at Judd's expense? Seems to me three weeks has been time enough to wear the joke off some. He's a peculiar fellow, I'll admit, but a great scout once you know him."

"Well then,—I don't know him yet, that's all," retorted Benz.

"Better come over some time and get acquainted!" Cateye spun on his heel and walked off, leaving Benz puzzled and indignant.

Two weeks more whiled away with nothing eventful happening. Football training had gotten well under way. Benz had been elected captain of the eleven over Cateye by one vote. Both men had won their letters for two years and were looked upon with respect and admiration by the other members of the team. Judd had turned out for practice but his ever present awkwardness had caused no end of merriment and made him the brunt for criticism from the mouth of Coach Phillips, himself. "Mighty good material," the coach had said, "But, he certainly needs seasoning!"

The first night that scrimmage was held, Judd, who had been playing left tackle on the second team in practice now got his first chance to demonstrate his ability. Benz was playing fullback on the varsity. Students thronged the sidelines.

The varsity kicked off and held the seconds for downs on their thirty yard line. The first play called for a line smash through left tackle. Benz came tearing in; his interference crumpled; he felt a hard shoulder against his knees, and the next moment hit the ground with a terrible thud which knocked the wind completely out of him. When he came to he looked around quietly, felt of himself, and sat up. "Steam roller or locomotive?" he asked, gamely.

"Only Rube," laughed Curns, who was playing right end on the varsity.

"Hump! He did it on purpose just to show me up. I'll get him!"

"No he didn't!" denied Cateye, indignantly, who happened to hear Benz's threat. "Judd says he didn't mean to throw you so hard. He always tackles that way. He stops whatever comes through his side the line."

"I guess he does!" grunted Benz, jumping dazedly to his feet. "Well, he won't get me again. Come on, gang, let's have a touchdown!"

Despite their efforts the varsity could not cross the line and the ball went over to the scrubs on the twenty yard line.

"Can any one in this gang punt?" asked McCabe, the quarterback. "We've only got one real punter in this college an' that's Benz."

"I used to be able to kick some," volunteered Judd, to McCabe's amazement.

"Play ball!" growled the varsity, anxious for more scrimmage.

"Good! I'll drop into your position. You go behind the line and receive the ball. We haven't any handsome array of signals yet. Give that pigskin fits!"

"I'll try!" grinned Judd, trotting back.

The students along the sidelines wondered at this latest move of Judd's. They had opened their eyes wide at the way he broke up the interference and nabbed Benz for a loss, a few plays before. Was he going to bring more renown to himself by disclosing some real toe work?

The ball was snapped back. Judd caught it clumsily but seemed over-anxious. The pigskin dropped and his mighty leg swung up to make the punt, but in some unaccountable manner, ball and foot missed connections and Judd described a graceful semi-circle, alighting flat on his back. It was so funny that the players on both sides refused to play. They just fell in their tracks and howled. Judd crawled slowly to his feet, his face crimson, his jaws set tight. The field was ringing with laughter. Even immobile as he usually was, Coach Phillips could not refrain from smiling. Luckily a scrub recovered the ball, but eight yards had been lost on the play.

"Call that play again!" Judd demanded, somewhat angrily.

"What! You're not going to repeat that performance, are you?" taunted
Benz, elated at Judd's poor showing.

"Better let me kick it this time," suggested McCabe, "I think I can punt a little farther than that!"

"So can I!" insisted Judd. "Give me another chance!"

There was something in Judd's eyes which made McCabe consent.

Everyone knew that the same play was to be attempted. Benz set himself ready to break through the line the moment the ball was snapped back. Here was his chance to break up the play and make Judd look more ridiculous than ever. The revenge would be sweet. Back went the ball! Benz shot through the line like a thunderbolt; Judd was raising his arms, his foot was swinging up. Benz leaped desperately into the air to block the punt. There was a firm, hollow sound of pigskin meeting toe and Benz felt the leather whiz past his face. Far down the field, even yet high in the air, soared the ball, twisting and turning! A gasp of amazement came from the crowd, then cheers.

"A good fifty yard punt!" cried several. "He can punt after all, can't he?"

"The lucky stiff!" groaned Benz.