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VP) SPOMmioL OS GP BER

any headway. The hungry shovel’s teeth fail to grip.
There is less than a peck of dirt with each bite. “Get a
teaspoon!” somebody yells.

The engineer notes that progress is stopped. He
calls out an order to the No. 2 workman and waves
the shovel aside. The workman comes with a pick.
Compared with the shovel, it is like a tugboat beside
the Queen Mary. But little tugs do great things. So
does this little pick. Half a dozen blows are enough.
The ground is loosened, the shovel bites and i is fed. Once
more, David has slain Goliath.

_ But how often do mighty enterprises fail for want
of a common pick!—s. s. a
oH

When you asked for my. advice, I knew what you
Bs really wanted was my approval.

ee ee.

Cle We ait mention his name because he is
Feet already legendary in the Pigskin and Banquet

League, a sort of Sacred Bull, or Old He-Coon
about which one must speak or hear no evil. We were
sitting at a banquet one night beside one of his All-
American ends. The toastmaster was eulogizing his old
coach, and telling us how clean he was, and what good
sportsmanship he. taught his boys. |

Now we had played against some of Old He-Coon’s
teams and we had some personal recollections that told
us some of his boys must have forgotten what they
were taught between the dressing room and the playing
ssn We suggested as much to the All-American.

He grinned. Yes, he said, I get fed up on the Old
Man's wings and halo. Maybe he had ’em, but I played
. under him for four years, and they were whittled down
pretty small by then.

=. 4d :

ce ——— 9
Fifteen