even with Sam Boyle—Barkie Donald and Bemus Pierce—The Yale-Harvard Game at Springfield '94—Result; No Game for Nine Years—Frank Hinkey and Wrightington's Broken Collar-bone—Joe Beacham's Paragon—Sandy Hunt—Bill Hollenback.

XXII.—LEST WE FORGET. 434-460 Marshall Newell—Gordon Brown—James J. Hogan—Thomas J. Shevlin—Francis H. Burr—Neil Snow—Billy Bannard—Harry Hooper—Richard Harding Davis—McClung. XXIII.—ALOHA. 461-464 Hail and Farewell—The Old Game and the New Compared—Exclusively Collegiate Sport—Isaac H. Bromley, Yale '53, Sums up the Spirit of College Life and Sport!

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FOOTBALL DAYS

CHAPTER I

PREP. SCHOOL DAYS

To every man there comes a moment that marks the turning point of his career. For me it was a certain Saturday morning in the autumn of 1891. As I look back upon it, across the years, I feel something of the same thrill that stirred my boyish blood that day and opened a door through which I looked into a new world.

I had just come to the city, a country boy, from my home in Lisle, N. Y., to attend the Horace Mann School. As I walked across Madison Square, I glanced toward the old Fifth Avenue Hotel, where my eyes fell upon the scene depicted in the accompanying picture. Almost before I was aware of it my curiosity led me to mingle with the crowd surging in and out of the hotel, and I learned by questioning the bystanders that it was the headquarters of the Yale team, which that afternoon was to play Princeton at the Polo Grounds. The players were about to leave the hotel for the field, and I hurried inside to catch a glimpse of them.

The air was charged with enthusiasm, and I soon caught the infection—although it was all new to me then—of the vital power of college spirit which later so completely dominated my life. I recall with vividness how I lingered and waited for something to happen. Men were standing in groups, and all eyes were centered upon the heroes of the team. Every one was talking football. Some of the names heard then have never been forgotten by me. There was the giant Heffelfinger whom every one seemed anxious to meet. I was told that he was the crack Yale guard. I looked at him, and, then and there, I joined the hero worshippers.

I also remember Lee McClung, the Yale captain, who seemed to realize the responsibilities that rested upon his shoulders. There was an air of restraint upon him. In later years he became Treasurer of the United States and his signature was upon the country's currency. My most vivid recollection of him will be, however, as he stood there that day in the corridor of the famous old hotel, on the day of a great football conflict with Princeton. Then Sanford was pointed out to me, the Yale center-rush. I recall his eagerness to get out to the "bus" and to be on his way to the field. When the starting signal was given by the captain, Sanford's huge form was in the front rank of the crowd that poured out upon the sidewalk.

The whole scene was intensely thrilling to me, and I did not leave until the last player had entered the "bus" and it drove off. Crowds of Yale men and spectators gave the players cheer after cheer as they rolled away. The flags with which the "bus" was decorated waved in the breeze, and I watched them with indescribable fascination until they were out of sight. The noise made by the Yale students I learned afterwards was college cheering, and college cheers once heard by a boy are never forgotten.

Many in that throng were going to the game. I could not go, but the scene that I had just witnessed gave me an inspiration. It stirred something within me, and down deep in my soul there was born a desire to go to college.

I made my way directly to the Y. M. C. A. gymnasium, then at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Twenty-third Street. Athletics had for me a greater attraction than ever before, and from that day I applied myself with increased enthusiasm to the work of the gymnasium.

The following autumn I entered St. John's Military Academy at Manlius, N. Y., a short distance from my old home. I was only seventeen years of age and weighed 217 pounds.

Former Adjutant General William Verbeck—then Colonel Verbeck—was Head Master. Before I was fairly settled in my room, the Colonel had drafted me as a candidate for the football team. I wanted to try for the team, and was as eager to make it as he evidently was to have me make it. But I did not have any football togs, and the supply at the school did not contain any large enough.

So I had to have some built for me. The day they arrived, much to my disappointment, I found the trousers were made of white canvas. Their newness was appalling and I pictured myself in them with feelings of dismay. I robbed them of their whiteness that night by mopping up a lot of mud with them behind the gymnasium. When they had dried—by morning—they looked like a pair of real football trousers.

George Redington of Yale was our football coach. He was full of contagious fire. Redington seemed interested in me and gave me much individual coaching. Colonel Verbeck matched him in love of the game. He not only believed in athletics, but he played at end on the second team, and it was pretty difficult for the boys to get the best of him. They made an unusual effort to put the Colonel out of the plays, but, try as hard as they might, he generally came out on top. The result was a decided increase in the spirit of the game.

We had one of the best preparatory school teams in that locality, but owing to our distance from the larger preparatory schools, we were forced to play Syracuse, Hobart, Hamilton, Rochester, Colgate, and Cazenovia Seminary—all of whom we defeated. We also played against the Syracuse Athletic Association, whose team was composed of professional athletes as well as former college players. Bert Hanson, who had been a great center at Yale, was one of this team.

Recalling the men who played on our St. John's team, I am confident that if all of them had gone to college, most of them would have made the Varsity. In fact, some did.

It was decided that I should go to Lawrenceville School, en