he carried his straw hat in one very
brown hand, while over his arm lay a sweater of Erskine purple, a pair
of canvas trousers, and two worn shoes.

"Blessed if I know who he is!" murmured South. They watched the newcomer
as he traversed the path and reached the steps. As he passed them and
entered the building he looked them over keenly with a pair of very
sharp and very light blue eyes.

"Wow!" muttered Paul. "He looked as though he was trying to decide
whether I would taste better fried or baked."

"I wonder--" began Neil. But at that moment Tom Cowan came up and Paul
put the question to him.

"The fellow that just came in?" repeated Cowan. "That, my boy, is a
gentleman who will have you standing on your head in just about twenty
minutes. Some eight or ten years ago he was popularly known hereabouts
as 'Whitey' Mills. To-day, if you know your business, you'll address him
as _Mister_ Mills."

"Oh," said Neil, "he's the head coach, is he?"

"He is, my young friend. And as he used to be one of the finest
half-backs in the country, I guess you'll see something of him before
you make the team. I dare say he can teach even you something about
playing your position." Cowan grinned and passed on.

"Oh, go to thunder!" muttered Neil, following him into the building.

He found Mills being introduced by Devoe to such of the new candidates
as were on hand.

"You remember Cowan, I guess," Devoe was saying. "He played right-guard
last year." Mills and Cowan shook hands. "And this is Fletcher, a new
man," continued the captain, "and Gale, too; they're both Hillton
fellows and played at half. It was Fletcher that made that fine run in
the St. Eustace game. Gale was the captain last year."

Mills shook hands with each, but beyond a short nod of his head and a
brief "Glad to meet you," displayed no knowledge of their fame.

"Grouchy chap," commented Paul when, the coach out of hearing, they were
changing their clothes.

"Well, he doesn't hurt himself talking," answered Neil. "But he looks
as though he knew his business. His eyes are like little blue-steel
gimlets."

"Doesn't look much for strength, though," said Paul.

But when, a few minutes later, Mills appeared on the gridiron in
football togs, Paul was forced to alter his opinion. Chest, arms, and
legs were a mass of muscle, and the head coach looked as though he could
render a good account of himself against the stiffest line that could be
put together.

The