(2) The Captain of the Football Team.

His room was spacious and Spartan. In one corner his golf clubs, in another a cricket bat, in a third his football boots, while the fourth was reserved for applecores. Around the walls all manner of decorations, a racquet, an oar, a punch ball, and a pair of V's in which he once won a fiftyyards breaststroke. I felt I was in the presence of an extraordinary man.

"Yes," he remarked pleasantly, "these boots are a trophy worth having. I won them in a scrum at Dunedin. You can see they were made in Capetown and are labelled Spratt's Special Springbok Sprinters. I feel very proud of these."

"How frantically fascinating," I murmured. "I suppose you have been winning such trophies throughout your whole life.'

"Pretty well," he answered, "I was always regarded as a bit of a prodigy. At the age of two I tackled by the toes an old rooster we used to keep. I pulled about a dozen feathers off him, and since then the thing has become a habit. Did you see me dump Teddy Roberts the other Saturday?"

I remembered the incident, but I wanted to know how he kept fit enough to do these things.

He admitted that the training was pretty exacting. "I get up at 5.30 a.m. and do halfanhour's skipping to start with, followed by an hour or so in the Gym. with dumbbells and boxing. After a cold plunge and breakfast—four eggs, three' chops, and a couple of plates of porridge—I set out for a long walk over the hills. I find sprinting uphill the very finest of exercise. The afternoon is devoted to linekicking and tackling practice, and the evening to reading books on football and working out stunts on paper Ligjht meals and plenty of sleep—I always retire at 9.30—are essential parts of my training."

It was then I discovered that I had wandered into the wrong room. I was talking not to the 'Varsity skipper, but to somebody else's hero.