practise began with ten minutes of falling on the ball. The
candidates were lined out in two strings across the field, the old men
in one, the new material in another. Neil and Paul were among the
latter, and Mills held their ball. Standing at the right end of the
line, he rolled the pigskin in front of and slightly away from the line,
and one after another the men leaped forward and flung themselves upon
it, missing it at first as often as not, and rolling about on the turf
as though suddenly seized with fits. Neil rather prided himself on his
ability to fall on the ball, and went at it like an old stager, or so he
thought. But if he expected commendation he found none. When the last
man had rolled around after the elusive pigskin, Mills went to the other
end of the line and did it all over again.

When it came Neil's turn he plunged out, found the ball nicely, and
snuggled it against his breast. To his surprise when he arose Mills left
his place and walked out to him.

"Let's try that again," he said. Neil tossed him the ball and went back
to his place. Mills nodded to him and rolled the pigskin toward him.
Neil dropped on his hip, securing the ball under his right arm. Like a
flash Mills was over him, and with a quick blow of his hand had sent the
leather bobbing across the turf yards away.

"When you get it, hold on to it," he said dryly. Neil arose with
reddening cheeks and, amid the smiles of the others, went back to his
place trying to decide whether, if he could have his way, the coach
should perish by boiling oil or by merely being drawn and quartered. But
after that it was a noticeable fact that the men clung to the ball when
they got it as though it were a dearly loved friend.

Later, passing down the line in front from end to end, the head coach
threw the ball swiftly at the feet of one after another of the
candidates, and each was obliged to drop where he stood and have the
ball in his arms when he landed. When Mills came to Neil the latter was
still nursing his resentment, and his cheeks still proclaimed that
fact. After the boy had dropped on the ball and had tossed it back to
the coach their eyes met. In the coach's was just the merest twinkle, a
very ghost of a smile; but Neil saw it, and it said to him as plainly as
words could have said, "I know just how you feel, my boy, but you'll get
over it after a while."

The coach passed on and the flush faded from Neil's cheeks; he even
smiled a little. I