Not that Fowler meant to leave his mark, but he was a big, powerful, hard-fighting chap and there were plenty of times when both parties to the practice games quite forgot that they were friends.

Tom was seldom seen without a strip of court-plaster pasted to some portion of his face.
It was four days after the Phillips game, to be exact, on the following Wednesday, that the first and second got together for what turned out to be the warmest struggle of the season in civil combat.

It was a cold, leaden day, with a stinging breeze out of the northeast, and every fellow who wore a head-guard felt as full of ginger as a young colt.

The second trotted over from their gridiron at four and found the first on its toes to get at them.

Things started off with a whoop.