perhaps he had something on his mind that troubled him. He seemed a bit
listless yesterday at practise. How about his studies? All right
there, is he?"

"Oh, yes. Fletcher gets on finely. He was saying only a day or two ago
that he was surprised to find them going so easily."

"Well, don't mention our talk to him, please; he might start to
worrying, and that's what we don't want, you know. Perhaps he'll be in
better shape to-day. We'll try him in the 'antidote.'"

But contrary to the hopes of the head coach, Neil showed no improvement.
His playing was slow, and he seemed to go at things in a half-hearted
way far removed from his usual dash and vim. Even the signals appeared
to puzzle him at times, and more than once Foster turned upon him
in surprise.

"Say, what the dickens is the matter with you, Neil?" he whispered once.
Neil showed surprise.

"Why, nothing; I'm all right."

"Well, I'm glad you told me," grumbled the quarter-back, "for I'd never
have guessed it, my boy."

Before the end of the ten minutes of open practise was over Neil had
managed to make so many blunders that even the fellows on the seats
noticed and remarked upon it. Later, when the singing and cheering were
over and the gates were closed behind the last marching freshman, Neil
found himself in hot water. The coaches descended upon him in a small
army, and he stood bewildered while they accused him of every sin in the
football decalogue. Devoe took a hand, too, and threatened to put him
off if he didn't wake up.

"Play or get off the field," he said. "And, hang it all, man, look
intelligent, as though you liked the game!"

Neil strove to look intelligent by banishing the expression of
bewilderment from his face, and stood patiently by until the last coach
had hurled the last bolt at his defenseless head--defenseless, that is,
save for the head harness that was dripping rain-drops down his neck.
Then he trotted off to the line-up with a queer, half-painful grin
on his face.

"I guess it's settled for me," he said to, himself, as he rubbed his
cold, wet hands together. "Evidently I sha'n't have to play off to give
Paul his place; I've done it already. I suppose I've been bothering my
head about it until I've forgotten what I've been doing. I wish
though--" he sighed--"I wish it hadn't been necessary to disgust Mills
and Bob Devoe and all the others who have been so decent and have hoped
so much of me. But it's settled now. Whether it's