The Fighting Scrub by Ralph Henry Barbour — Read

Friday was an unreal sort of a day to Clif. He made a miserable fizzle of three recitations and conducted himself generally as though he was sleep-walking. It was only at three-thirty that he really became conscious. Then he came out of his trance and trotted around the field at the end of a line of seven third-string players, trying to get the signals right when Braley barked them. Two other squads indulged in the same recreation; and there were several fellows left out, at that, for the Wyndham First Team now consisted of thirty-seven players. Clif's squad was the last to quit signal drill, and after it was over he joined a dozen others and caught and threw the ball while the field gradually emptied. By five the last practice was over and the last player clumped across the running track and over the turf to the gymnasium leaving the field to darkness. Lights were already on in the gymnasium and East Hall when Clif and "Wink" left the gridiron.

That evening there was an hour of blackboard drill in the rowing room from seven-thirty to eight-thirty. Team members had been given study cuts since recitations had been abolished for Saturday. After drill Mr. Babcock brushed the chalk from his hands and spoke briefly. "I want every fellow to go from here right to his room," said the Coach. "At any rate, keep away from that cheer meeting over there. Read or talk for a while and then get to bed. Bedtime to-night is nine-thirty for all of you. No matter if you aren't sleepy. Get into bed and relax and try not to think about anything. That's the best way to get to sleep that I know of.