LITMIR.BIZ

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“You’re a new fellow, I take it. Fresh?”

      Leonard, nettled by the correction, answered a bit stiffly, “Sophomore.”

      The tall youth gravely extended a hand. “Welcome,” he said. “Welcome to the finest class in the school.”

      Leonard shook hands, his slight resentment vanishing. “I suppose that means that you’re a soph, too.”

      The fellow nodded. “So far,” he assented. Then he smiled for the first time, and after that smile Leonard liked him suddenly and thoroughly. “If you ask me that again after mid-year,” he continued, “you may get a different answer. Well, I guess I’d better go up and get Johnny started. He’s evidently anxious about me.” He nodded once more and moved past Leonard and through the gate to the stand. Leonard had not noticed any sign of anxiety on the coach’s countenance, but it wasn’t to be denied that the greeting between the two was hearty. Leonard’s new acquaintance seated himself at the coach’s side and draped his long legs luxuriously over the back of the seat in front. The youth with the clip looked up from his writing and said something and the others threw their heads back and laughed. Leonard was positively relieved to discover that the coach could laugh like that. He couldn’t be so very ferocious, after all!

      The trainer appeared, followed by a man trundling a wheelbarrow laden with paraphernalia. The throng of candidates increased momentarily along the side-line and a few hardy youths, carrying coats over arms, perched themselves on the seats to look on. Leonard again turned to observe the coach and found that gentleman on his feet and extending his hand to a big chap in unstained togs. The two shook hands, and then the big fellow turned his head to look across the field, and Leonard saw that he was Gordon Renneker. A fifth member had joined the group, and him Leonard recognized as the boy who had accompanied Renneker into the office. Leonard surmised now that he was the captain: he had read the chap’s name but had forgotten it. After a moment of conversation, during which the other members of the group up there seemed to be giving flattering attention to Renneker’s portion, the five moved toward the field, and a minute later the business of building a football team had begun.

      Coach Cade made a few remarks, doubtless not very different from those he had made at this time of year on many former occasions, was answered with approving applause and some laughter and waved a brown hand. The group of some seventy candidates dissolved, footballs trickled away from the wheelbarrow and work began. Leonard made one of a circle of fifteen or sixteen other novices who passed a ball from hand to hand and felt the sun scorching earnestly at the back of his neck. Later, in charge of a heavy youth whose name Leonard afterwards learned was Garrick, the group was conducted further down the field and was permitted to do other tricks with the ball – two balls, to be exact. They caught it on the bound, fell on it and snuggled it to their perspiring bodies and then again, while they recovered somewhat of their breath, passed it from one to another. In other portions of the field similar exercises were going on with other actors in the parts, while, down near the further goal balls were traversing the gridiron, propelled by hand or toe. Garrick was a lenient task-master, and breathing spells were frequent, and yet, even so, there were many in Leonard’s squad who were just about spent when they were released to totter back to the benches and rinse their parched mouths with warm water from the carboy which, having been carefully deposited an hour ago in the shade of the wheelbarrow, was now enjoying the full blaze of the westing sun. Leonard, his canvas garments wet with perspiration, his legs aching, leaned against the back of the bench and wondered why he wanted to play football!

      Presently he forgot his discomforts in watching the performance of a squad of fellows who were trotting through a signal drill. Last year’s regulars these, he supposed; big, heavy chaps, most of them; fellows whose average age was possibly eighteen, or perhaps more. The quarterback, unlike most of the quarters Leonard had had acquaintance with, was a rather large and weighty youth with light hair and a longish face. His name, explained Leonard’s left-hand neighbor on the bench, was Carpenter. He had played on the second team last year and was very likely to prove first-choice man this fall. He was, the informant added admiringly, a corking punter. Leonard nodded. Secretly he considered Mr. Carpenter much too heavy for a quarterback’s job. The day’s diversions ended with a slow jog around the edge of the gridiron. Then came showers and a leisurely dressing; only Leonard, since his street clothes were over in Number 12 Haylow, had his shower in the dormitory and was wearily clothing himself in clean underwear and a fresh shirt when the door of the room was unceremoniously opened and he found himself confronted by a youth whose countenance was strangely familiar and whom, his reason told him, was Eldred Chichester Staples, his poetic roommate. Considering it later, Leonard wondered why he had not been more surprised when recognition came. All he said was: “Well, did you get rid of the whole seventeen?”

      CHAPTER IV

      LEONARD GETS PROMOTION

      Eldred Chichester Staples appeared to be no more surprised than Leonard. He closed the door, with the deftness born of long practice, with his left foot, sailed his cap to his bed and nodded, thrusting hands into the pockets of his knickers.

      “The whole seventeen,” he answered dejectedly. “Couldn’t you tell it by a glance at my emaciated frame?”

      Leonard shook his head. “You look to me just hungry,” he said.

      “Slim” Staples chuckled and reposed himself in a chair, thrusting his long legs forward and clasping lean, brown hands across his equator. “Your name must be Grant,” he remarked. “Where from, stranger?”

      “Loring Point, Delaware.”

      “We’re neighbors then. My home’s in New Hampshire. Concord’s the town.”

      “Isn’t that where the embattled farmers stood and – and fired – er – ”

      “The shot that was heard around the world? No, General, you’ve got the dope all wrong. That was another Concord. There aren’t any farmers in my town. Come to think of it, wasn’t it Lexington, Massachusetts, where the farmers took pot-shots at the Britishers? Well, never mind. I understand that the affair was settled quite amicably some time since. Glad to be here, General?”

      “I think so. Thanks for the promotion, though. I’m usually just ‘Len.’”

      “Oh, that’s all right. No trouble to promote you. What does ‘Len’ stand for?”

      “Leonard.”

      “Swell name. You’ve got the edge on the other Grant. Ulysses sounds like something out of the soda fountain. Well, I hope we’ll hit it off all right. I’m an easy-going sort, General; never much of a scrapper and hate to argue. Last year, over in Borden, I roomed with a chap named Endicott. Dick was the original arguer. He could start with no take-off at all and argue longer, harder and faster than any one outside a court of law. I was a great trial to him, I suspect. If he said Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote ‘The Merchant of Venice’ I just said ‘Sure, Mike’ and let it go at that. Arguing was meat and drink to that fellow.”

      “And what became of him? I mean, why aren’t you – ”

      “Together this year? He didn’t come back. You see, he spent so much time in what you might call controversy that he didn’t get leisure for studying. So last June faculty told him that he’d failed to pass and that if he came back he’d have about a million conditions to work off. He did his best to argue himself square, but faculty beat him out. After all, there was only one of him and a dozen or so faculty, and it wasn’t a fair contest. At that, I understand they won by a very slight margin!”

      “Hard luck,” laughed Leonard. “I dare say he was a star member of the debating club, if there is one here.”

      “There is, but Dick never joined. He said they were amateurs. What do you say to supper? Oh, by the way, you were out for football, weren’t you? What’s your line?”

      “I’ve played guard mostly.”

      “Guard, eh?” Slim looked him over appraisingly. “Sort of light, aren’t you?”

      “I guess so,” allowed Leonard. “Of course, I don’t expect to make the first; that is, this year.”

      Slim

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