Barbour Ralph Henry
Center Rush Rowland

“You haven’t bored me,” answered Ira, smiling. “I’ve been interested. Care to know what I’ve been thinking, Lyons?”

“Why, yes.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking that you’re pretty lucky.”

“Lucky! Who, me?”

“Yes. You see, you’ve got a fine, big man’s-size job, and if you manage to make – what do you say? – turn out a good team and get the school to support it you’ve really done something worth doing, haven’t you?”

“Gosh! Rowland’s a regular Little Sunbeam,” laughed Gene. “I’ll bet you never thought of it in that way, Fred.”

“I never did.” Lyons smiled and shook his head. “But there’s something in it, Rowland. There’s a lot in it, by Jove! Only thing is, you know, you’ve got to keep that in mind. If you don’t you’re likely to consider yourself in hard luck. I’ll try to see the bright side of it, Rowland.”

“I suppose that sounded cheeky,” said Ira. “I didn’t mean it to.”

“Not a bit! And I wasn’t sarcastic. I really do mean that I’ll try to keep in mind that it is a big job and that it’s worth doing. And,” he added warmly, “I’m mighty glad you said it. It’s going to help. But there’s another way you can help, Rowland, if you will.”

“How is that?”

“Come out and try for the team tomorrow. Will you?”

Ira hesitated. “I’d like awfully much to oblige you, Lyons, but I don’t want to do it. I’m quite certain that I’d never be any good at football. I guess it takes some quality I haven’t got. I don’t believe a fellow ever makes much of a success at a thing he hasn’t any – any inclination for. If you don’t mind, Lyons, I’d much prefer not to.”

“If it’s only not liking the game,” said Lyons, “you can take my word for it that you will like it after you get to know it better, and – ”

“It isn’t that altogether. I’m not a very brilliant fellow at studying, and, of course I did come here to learn. I don’t expect to go to college and so I want to make the most of this school. And I’m afraid that playing football would raise hob with studying. It does, doesn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” answered White. “Fred manages to keep his end up without trouble, and so do a lot of others.”

“Don’t lie to him,” said Lyons. “Football does play hob with your studies, Rowland. The only thing is that it lasts but a short while and it leaves you in mighty good shape to buckle down and get caught up. But it’s piffle to say that the two things mix well. They don’t. I’ve always managed to keep up fairly well in my classes, but how it will be this year I don’t know. Luckily, I’ve got a fairly easy term ahead of me. You do just as you think best about trying for the team, old man. We’d like mighty well to have you, and I think you’d make good, but if you think you’d better not, why, that’s your affair. Only, if you change your mind in the next fortnight and see your way to giving us a chance to use you, come on out. We need men – I mean likely ones: we’ve got a raft of the other sort – and we can find a place for you somewhere or I miss my guess.”

“Seems to me,” observed Ray White, “Rowland is rather losing sight of the question of duty.”

“I don’t think so,” answered Ira, before Gene could interpose. “Seems to me my duty is toward my dad, who is paying for my schooling. After that to myself. Then to the school.”

“Right,” said Lyons heartily.

“It’s a good thing every fellow doesn’t look at it that way, then,” grumbled White.

“If I thought I could help on the football team and still keep up my studies as I ought to I guess I’d join,” said Ira. “I’d like to do anything I could to help. But I don’t. Still, it’s all pretty new to me yet and maybe after I’ve been here another week I’ll have a better line on what’s going to happen. Maybe I can tell then how much work I’ll have to do.” He got up, smiling apologetically at them. “I’m sorry if I seem unpatriotic,” he added.

“Oh, don’t mind Ray,” said Gene. “He’s a sorehead. And don’t hurry off. The night is still extremely young.”

“Thanks, but I ought to be going. I’m glad to have met you all. Good night.”

“Good night, Rowland,” answered the football captain. “Don’t let anything we’ve said bother you. Do as you think best. Only remember there’s a trial awaiting you any time inside the next fortnight and help us out if you can.”

Ray White got up and followed Ira to the door. “Sorry if I was peevish,” he said, holding out his hand. “Forget it, Rowland. Get Gene to bring you up to my room some night, will you?”

CHAPTER IX
AN ULTIMATUM

Several days passed without incidents worth recording here. Life at Parkinson settled down into the groove that it was to follow for the next nine months and Ira found that his studies looked far less formidable on close acquaintance than they had at first. Ira had declared that he was not a brilliant fellow at studying, and he wasn’t, but he had the gift of application and an excellent memory, which, combined, are half the battle. The courses he had feared most, Greek and French, were proving easier than English, which he had not troubled about. But third year English at Parkinson was a stiff course and Ira’s grammar school preparation had not been very thorough. Greek he took to avidly, possibly because Professor Addicks was a very sympathetic teacher and managed to make his courses interesting. Mathematics came easily to him and his other studies – he was taking nineteen hours in all – were not troublesome. On the whole, he felt himself quite able to cope with his work, and wondered if he was not in duty bound to go out and save the destinies of the football team. Of course, putting it that way he had to smile, for he couldn’t imagine himself of any more use on the gridiron than nothing at all! Only, he reflected, if it would give Captain Lyons any satisfaction to have him there, perhaps, since it seemed quite possible to play football without flunking at recitations, he ought to put in an appearance. At all events, he would, he decided, wait a few days longer. There was no hurry.

For want of a better confidant, he put the case up to Humphrey Nead one evening. Humphrey told him he was silly not to grab the chance. “I wish,” he said, “they’d beg me to come out for the football team. You couldn’t see me, for dust! You’re in luck, Rowly.”

“Rowly” was Nead’s compromise between “Say!” and “Rowland” at this time. Ira didn’t like it overmuch as a nickname, but entered no protest. He was determined to make the best of Humphrey Nead as a roommate, and during the first week was careful to make no criticisms. When, however, he did criticise he did it effectively. The occasion was just a week after that first chance meeting with Nead. The latter had formed a habit of eating his dinners in the evenings downtown in the company of various “Jimmies” and “Billies” whose last names Ira never heard, or, hearing, forgot. Usually Humphrey didn’t return to the room until nearly ten o’clock. Sometimes it was nearer midnight, although, to do him justice, those occasions were few. On this particular evening, Ira, returning at half-past seven from Mrs. Trainor’s boarding house, where he had lately become a “regular” for dinners and suppers, found Humphrey stretched out on his bed, a book face-open on his chest and a dead cigarette between the fingers of a hand that hung over the edge. He was asleep. Although both windows were open the tobacco smoke still lingered. Ira frowned thoughtfully as he hung up his cap in the closet. Then, after a moment’s indecision, he walked across to the bed and shook the sleeper awake.

“Eh? Hello!” muttered Humphrey. “Must have fallen asleep.” He yawned widely, blinked and stretched himself. “What time is it? Had your dinner?”

“I’ve had my supper,” answered Ira.

“Oh, the dickens! I was going to get you to stand me a feed.”

“Sorry. Look here, Nead, you’ll have to stop that.”

“Stop what?” asked the other blankly.

Ira pointed to the cigarette still clutched in Humphrey’s fingers. Humphrey brought his hand up and looked. A brief expression of dismay changed to a grin.

“Caught in the act, eh? ‘Flagrante – ’ What’s the Latin of it, Rowly?”

“Never mind the Latin,” replied Ira grimly. “The English of it is that you’ve got to quit it in this room.”

“Who says so?” demanded Humphrey, scowling.

“I say so. Faculty says so, too.”

“Oh, piffle! Look here, faculty says you can smoke in your room if you’re a fourth year man. If a fourth year man can smoke, I can. It’s my own affair.”

“Faculty allows fourth year fellows to smoke pipes in their rooms if they have the written consent of their parents. You’re not a fourth year fellow, you haven’t the consent of your parents and that isn’t a pipe; it’s a cigarette.”

“Well, don’t lecture about it. There’s no harm in a cigarette now and then. Half the fellows in school smoke on the sly.”

“I don’t believe it,” denied Ira stoutly. “I don’t know one who does it.”

“Huh! You don’t know very many, anyhow, do you? And you’re such a nice, proper sort of chump that they wouldn’t do it when you were around, I guess.”

“Never mind that, Nead. This is as much my room as it is yours, and I don’t like cigarettes and won’t stand for them. We might as well understand each other now. Then there won’t be any further rowing.”

“Suppose I choose to smoke?” drawled Humphrey.

“Then you’ll have to find another room.”

“Yes, I will! Like fun! I suppose you’d go and tell faculty, eh?”

“I might, if I couldn’t stop it any other way,” returned Ira calmly. “But I don’t think it would be necessary.”

He viewed Humphrey very steadily and the latter, after an instant of defiant glaring, dropped his gaze uncertainly.

“Rough-stuff, eh?” he sneered. “Well, you’re a heap bigger than I am, and I guess you could get away with it. Anyway, I don’t care enough about smoking to fight.”

“Then I think I’d quit,” said Ira. “What’s the idea, anyway, Nead?”

“Oh, just for fun,” answered the other airily. “Haven’t you ever done it?”

“Once,” said Ira, with a fleeting and reminiscent smile. “I guess every fellow tries it once. I didn’t like it, though.”

“Of course not. You have to keep at it.” Humphrey laughed. “Gee, I was a wreck after my first attempt!”

“Seems to me that anything that has that effect on you can’t be especially good for you,” said Ira.

“Oh, a fellow doesn’t want to just do the things that are good for him. There’s no fun in that. Smoking cigarettes is like – like playing hookey when you’re a kid. You do it because it – it’s a sort of adventure, eh?”

“I suppose so,” agreed Ira. “Well, you’ve had your adventure, haven’t you? You’ve got all the fun out of it. What’s the use of keeping it up?”

Humphrey gazed at Ira thoughtfully. “Gee, that’s a new idea,” he chuckled. “Never thought of that! Maybe you’re right, old scout. Guess I’ll quit cigarettes and try something else. Burglary or – or murder, maybe.”

“Well, don’t practise at home,” laughed Ira. Then soberly: “I wish you’d agree to call it off on the cigarettes, though, Nead.”

“Oh, when you ask me nicely like that,” answered the other, “I don’t mind, I guess. But I won’t stand being bullied.” He blustered a bit. “You can’t scare me into doing things, Rowland, and you might as well learn that first as last.”

“I don’t want to scare you or bully you,” answered Ira. “Sorry if I went at it wrong.”

“Well, you did,” grumbled the other. He sat up and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. Then: “Tell you how you can square yourself, Rowly,” he said. “Lend me a quarter, like a good chap, will you? I’m stony.”

“Of course. But you don’t mean, really, that you’ve got no money?”

“Sorry to say I mean that exactly,” replied Humphrey with a grin.

“But – but you’ve been here only a week! What have you done – ”

“With my wealth?” prompted Humphrey as the other hesitated. “Well I’ve dropped about six dollars playing pool with those sharks down at the Central, and I’ve bought a lot of food and I’ve paid for a year’s subscription to the ‘Leader’ – didn’t want the silly paper, but a fellow cornered me – , and I’ve – oh, I don’t know! Money never sticks around me very long. But you needn’t worry about your quarter, because I’ve written home for more. I told mother I was taking an extra course in poolology and it was expensive!” He chuckled. “She’ll understand and come across.”

“I wasn’t worrying about my quarter,” answered Ira. “I was wondering what you expected to do for meals until the letter comes.”

“Well, I sort of intended going around to Mrs. Thingamabob’s with you tonight and signing on there until – for awhile. But you didn’t show up and I fell asleep.”

“Unless you arrange for regular board,” said Ira, “Mrs. Trainor will make you pay at every meal. You’d better let me lend you enough to see you through until you hear from your folks. How much will it take?”

Humphrey looked vastly surprised and a trifle embarrassed. “Why, that’s mighty decent of you, old scout!” he exclaimed. “But can you – I mean – ”

“I can let you have five dollars,” said Ira, “if that will do.”

“Honest? It won’t make you short? But I’ll give it back to you by Saturday. I wrote yesterday.”

“I can’t do it tonight,” said Ira. “I’ll have to get it out of the bank. But here’s thirty-five cents you can have.”

“Right-o! Thanks awfully, Rowly! You’re a brick. Sorry if I talked nasty.” He got up from the bed, viewing the cigarette stub whimsically. Then he scratched a match, lighted the cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the room. “Good-bye forever!” he exclaimed tremulously, and, turning to the window, flicked the cigarette out into the night. “Now for burglary!” Whereupon he picked up the coins Ira had put on the table, planted his cap rakishly over one ear, winked expressively and hurried out.

Ira, arranging his books for study, wished somewhat ruefully that he hadn’t jumped to conclusions by connecting the cigarette odour with Mart Johnston that time. He had met Mart two days before and that youth had passed him with a very cool and careless nod, evidently resentful because Ira had not accepted the invitation to call.

“I guess, though,” thought Ira, as he seated himself at the desk and sucked the end of a pencil, “he doesn’t care very much.”

Gene Goodloe he saw every day, sometimes only long enough to exchange greetings with, sometimes long enough for a chat. But he hadn’t been back to Number 30 Williams yet, nor had Gene, in spite of promises, called at “Maggy’s.” Captain Lyons and Raymond White were always genial when he met them, but it didn’t look much as if the acquaintances with those fellows were likely to expand. Several times Ira watched football practice, and, while he failed to discover anything about the game to captivate him, he viewed it with more interest since meeting Fred Lyons and learning what a difficult task the latter was undertaking. That Lyons had not exaggerated the attitude of the school toward the football team was made plain to Ira by the comments he heard at practice. It seemed the popular thing to speak with laughing contempt of the team and the football situation. The “Forlorn Hopes” was a favourite name for the players, while it seemed to be a generally accepted conclusion that Parkinson would go down in defeat again in November. All this made Coach Driscoll’s efforts to get additional candidates doubly difficult. Some fellows did go out, from a sense of duty, and at the end of the first week of school there were nearly eighty candidates on the field. That number looked large to Ira until he overheard one of the instructors remark to another one afternoon: “A most discouraging situation, isn’t it? Why, four years ago we used to turn out a hundred and twenty to a hundred and fifty boys, I’m afraid it will be the same old story again this Fall!”

The first game took place Saturday afternoon and Ira paid his quarter and went to see it. It wasn’t much of a contest, and even he, as ignorant of the game as he was, could discern that neither team covered itself with glory during those two twenty-minute halves. It seemed to him that had all the Parkinson players done as well as Captain Lyons or the fellow who played full-back or the one who was at quarter during the first half the story might have been different. But those three stood out as bright, particular stars, and the rest didn’t average up to them by a long shot. Ira, by the way, was interested to find that the quarter-back – inquiry divulged his name to be Dannis – was none other than the youth who had so earnestly and unsuccessfully practised hurdling that day. Dannis ran the team in much the same spirit, but with far more success. He was not very big, and he looked rather heavy, but he had a remarkable head on his shoulders, and was quite light enough to make several startling runs and was a live-wire all the time that he remained in the contest. When, in the second half, another candidate for the position took his place the difference was at once discernible in the slowing down of the game.

While most of the fellows turned out to look on, enthusiasm, when there was any, was distinctly perfunctory. Still, that might have been laid to the game itself, for interesting features were few and far between. Dannis got away several times for good gains and showed himself a remarkably elusive object in a broken field, but as nothing much depended on his success or non-success there was scant reason to enthuse. Mapleton was outclassed from the first and that Parkinson did not score more than the twenty points that made up her final total was less to Mapleton’s credit than to the home team’s discredit. A game in which one contestant takes the lead in the first five minutes of play and is never headed is not very exciting at best, and Ira walked back to the campus after the game with his estimate of football as a diversion not a bit enhanced.

If Parkinson deserved any credit for winning from her adversary by a score of 20 to 0, she certainly didn’t get it. “Just the way we started off last year,” Ira heard a fellow remark on the way back to the yard. “Ran up about half as many points as we should have on Cumner High School and then played worse every game for the rest of the season.”

“We ought to have scored forty on that team today,” replied his companion. “A team with any sort of an attack could have torn our line to fragments. Why, as it was our centre just fell apart every time anyone looked at it!”

“Lyons didn’t do so badly,” said the other. “And neither did Wirt. But ‘The’ Dannis was the whole shooting match, pretty nearly. I don’t see why they wanted to put Basker in in the last half. He isn’t a patch on ‘The.’”

“I suppose Driscoll wants to bring him around for second-string man. You’ll see all sorts of combinations tried out for the next month. And they’ll all be about equally punk, too, I guess. What the dickens is the matter with the team nowadays, anyway? Is it the coaching or the leading or what, Steve?”

“Search me! All I know is that it’s rotten. Has been for three years. I don’t think it’s the coaching. This chap Driscoll looks like a good one. Everyone says that. And Fred Lyons is all right, too. There isn’t a fellow in school that can boss a job better than Lyons. I guess it’s a plain case of chronic slump!”

Ira wanted very much to speak out and tell them that possibly some of the fault for the team’s lack of success was due to them. “If,” he said to himself as he watched the two boys turn off toward Sohmer Hall, “you’d stop thinking the team was poor maybe it wouldn’t be. No team, I guess, can do much if no one believes in it. What is needed here is a change of heart! I suppose every fellow connected with the team realises that the school is laughing at him, and I guess that doesn’t help much. Seems to me there ought to be a way to change things, to get the fellows back of the team again. But – I wonder how!”

CHAPTER X
ON THE FOURTH SQUAD

“How much does a football suit cost, Humphrey, and where do you buy it?”

Humphrey looked up from his book and smiled quizzically across at the enquirer. “Hello!” he said. “Going to the rescue of the dear old school after all, Rowly?”

Ira nodded slowly. “It sounds sort of silly, I guess,” he replied, “but I’ve decided to have a try at it. I don’t believe for a minute that they’ll keep me more than one day, but Lyons wanted me to try it, and – well, I guess that’s the least I can do. Someone ought to do something for the team besides ‘knock’ it. Where do you get these things you wear?”

“Wherever they sell ’em. There’s a store a block or so over towards the common where they have footballs and things in the window. Don’t remember the name, but you can’t miss it.”

“How much do you have to pay for a regular outfit?”

“Never bought one, Rowly. The only time I played football it was just kid stuff, and we wore whatever we had. You might ask our fat friend next door. He’s on the team – or trying for it.”

“Duff? I don’t know him well enough, I guess. Do you think ten dollars would do it?”

“Well, hardly, Rowly! Why, shoes cost four, I suppose. And then you have to have trousers and stockings and jacket and sweater – ”

“I’ve got a sweater,” interrupted Ira. “I wish I knew someone who had some things they weren’t using. I hate to spend a lot of money for something I may not need after two or three days!”

“You don’t seem to think very well of your chances,” laughed Humphrey. “But, say, why don’t you ask someone? I’ll bet there are plenty of outfits you could buy or borrow. How about that chap Goodloe? He might know of someone.”

“That’s so. I think I’ll ask him.”

“The only trouble,” chuckled Humphrey, “is that another fellow’s togs will probably be too small for you. Maybe you could have them let out, though.”

“I sort of wish I’d stop growing so fast,” said Ira sorrowfully. “Everything I get is too small for me after a few months. The tailor is fixing both my other suits, but I dare say by the time he gets them done he will have to start over again!”

This conversation took place on the Sunday evening succeeding the Mapleton game. That it was Sunday explained Humphrey’s presence at home, for he spent most of his evenings in or around the Central Billiard Palace, so far as Ira could make out. Humphrey had heard from home and was once more in funds. He had promptly returned Ira’s loans and paid his share of the furnishings, laughingly explaining that he wanted to keep his credit good as he would probably have to borrow again soon. Ira wished that he would spend less time in the town and more in the third floor back room at Maggy’s, for there were already indications of impending trouble between Humphrey and various instructors. But Ira decided that Humphrey had better learn his own lesson from experience. Humphrey was not the sort one could offer suggestions to, no matter how excellent or well-meant they might be. Of late the roommates had got on very well. Ira was certain that there had been no more cigarette smoking in the house and was fairly sure that Humphrey had given up the habit entirely. Perhaps it was because Ira was getting used to the other, but it seemed to him that he could detect an improvement both in Humphrey’s manners and appearance. When the latter wanted to be pleasant he could be very pleasant, and at such times he was rather a likable sort.

Ira went across to Williams as soon as breakfast was over the next morning and found both Gene Goodloe and Fred Lyons at home. When he had explained his mission both fellows dived into closets and trunks and in about three minutes Ira was outfitted. Fortunately, the pair of well-worn trousers were Fred’s, for had they been Gene’s they would never have answered. The jacket was practically new, one that Gene had purchased two years before with visions in mind of making his class team. It didn’t lace quite close across the chest, but answered well enough for the present. The shoes were Fred’s, and save that each had one or more cleats missing, were in very good shape. The brown jersey, with leather pads at elbows and shoulders, was Gene’s, and, while it fitted a bit too soon, promised to conform in time to the physical proportions of the new wearer. A pair of stockings alone was wanting. Fred found some, but after exposing the heels he discarded them. However, stockings were a small item, and as for a sweater, Ira had a perfectly good one that had never been worn. It wasn’t brown, but Fred said that wouldn’t matter a bit.

The only trouble obtruded when Ira broached the subject of price. Neither boy wanted to consider payment. “Why, the things aren’t worth ten cents,” declared Gene. “I’d never use mine, and Fred’s got more togs at the gym than he can wear!”

“But I can’t just – just walk off in them,” protested Ira. “I’d rather buy them, if you don’t mind.”

“But we do mind!” said Gene. “We’d blush to take money for them. Look at Fred. He’s blushing already!” Ira couldn’t detect it, however, and resolutely draped the garments over the back of a chair as he took them off.

“I guess I’ll have to buy them at the store then,” he said regretfully. “I’m awfully much obliged to you, but I can’t take them unless you let me pay for them.”

“Oh, don’t be a silly chump!” begged Gene. But Fred interposed.

“If you feel that way about it, Rowland, why, we’ll take your money, of course. A couple of dollars will settle with me and I guess Gene won’t want more than a dollar.”

“A dollar!” jeered his roommate. “He can have them for fifty cents.”

“I guess I’d better make an offer,” said Ira soberly. “The trousers aren’t so new as the other things. I’ll give you a dollar for them. And I’ll give two dollars for the shoes, fifty cents for the shirt and fifty cents for the jacket. Will that do?”

“Suits me,” said Fred.

“Me, too,” answered Gene. “And, say, Rowland, I’ve got a lot of other things I wish you’d look at. Need a nice Winter overcoat? Or a few pairs of shoes? Or – say, what’ll you give for the furniture just as it stands?”

“Dry up, Gene,” growled Fred. “I’m glad you’re coming out, Rowland. Practice is at three-thirty. If you don’t find time to get stockings don’t bother about them. We’ll find some for you at the gym.”

“Thanks, but I’ll get a pair this morning. What shall I do when I get there this afternoon?”

“Report to me, please, and I’ll look after you. And, say, Rowland, don’t get discouraged if it seems a good deal like drudgery at first. Stick it out, will you? There is a good deal of hard work in it, and coming out a week late will make it a bit harder. But you’ll like it as soon as you get used to it.”

“Yes, just as soon as you’ve broken an arm or a leg,” said Gene cheerfully, “you’ll positively love it, Rowland!”

When Ira had gone out, his purchases draped over his arm, Fred said mildly: “What’s the good of trying to make him feel uncomfortable, Gene? He wanted to buy the things, so why not let him do it if it was going to make him any happier?”

“I’ll bet he didn’t feel as uncomfortable as I did,” answered the other. “I felt like a second-hand clothes dealer. I didn’t want his old dollar. Besides, he hasn’t much money, I guess, and it seemed a shame to take it.”

“Folks who don’t have money, Gene, are the ones who are touchiest about accepting presents,” observed Fred wisely. “I hope we can do something with that chap,” he added as he gathered his books together. “If he can be taught he’ll be a prize.”

“Why can’t he be taught? If you think he’s stupid you’re dead wrong, Frederick dear. He’s got a heap of horse sense, that kid.”

“I know. I don’t mean that he’s stupid. Only – well, some fellows can learn about everything except football. I don’t know why it is, but it’s so. Maybe football requires a certain sort of instinct – ”

“Oh, piffle! You football fellows think the game’s something sort of – of different from everything else there is! You make me tired! It’s a sight harder to run the half-mile than it is to play a dozen football games!”

“It might be for you,” answered Fred, dryly. “To the limited intellect an easy task always seems the harder. Good morning!”

“Listen, you big galoot! You use Rowland right. Hear me? If you don’t I’ll lick you!”

“What you say goes, Gene,” answered Fred airily from the doorway. “I’ll wrap him in cotton wool the very first thing!”

“Yes, take the stuffing out of your head,” retorted Gene triumphantly.

That afternoon, feeling queer and conspicuous in his unfamiliar attire, Ira slipped out of the gymnasium and joined the stream trickling to the gridiron. That the football togs made a difference in him was proved when he passed Raymond White near the grandstand. Ray viewed him carelessly and looked away without recognition. Then, dimly conscious of a likeness to someone he knew, Ray looked again and turned back.

“Hello, Rowland!” he exclaimed, laughing. “By Jove, I didn’t know you! So you’re out, eh? I’m awfully glad. I sort of thought you’d get the fever after watching a game or two. Well, you’ll like it. See if you don’t.”

Ira didn’t think it worth while to explain that instead of having acquired the football fever, he had, on the contrary, decided that his first opinion of the game was the correct one and was there that afternoon more because of a sense of duty than anything else.

“Are you looking for Lowell?” continued Ray. “He isn’t out yet, I guess. What are you trying for? Or don’t you know that?”

“No, I don’t. What I think I’d rather do is hold one of those iron rods along the side,” laughed Ira. “I was told to report to Lyons, but I don’t see him around.”

“No, he isn’t here yet. Pick up one of those balls back of you and we’ll pass a minute.”

After two attempts to catch and throw the erratically behaving pigskin it dawned on Ira that he had even more to learn than he had suspected. However, following Ray White’s instructions, he presently learned to stop the ball with both hands and body instead of treating it like a baseball, and to wrap his fingers about it so he could throw it within a few yards of where he meant it to land. There wasn’t much time for passing, however, as coach, captain and manager arrived together very shortly, and Ira, rather conscious of his strange togs, approached the group.

“Oh, here you are!” greeted Fred Lyons. “Coach, this is Rowland, the chap I was telling you about. Shake hands with Coach Driscoll, Rowland. And Manager Lowell. You might give Lowell your name and so on. He’s full of questions.”