l would dent a freight train."

"All ready, Stover?" said Cockrell.

The players stood in two lines, four yards apart. No one laughed. They
looked at Stover, thrilling a little with his communicated
recklessness, grunting forth their approval.

"Good nerve."

"The real stuff."

"Pure grit."

"Little devil."

Stover's face had gone white, the eyes had dwindled and set intensely,
the line of the mouth was drawn taut, while on his forehead the wind
lifted the matted hair like a banner. In the middle of the lane,
crowding forward, his arms out, ready to spring, his glance fixed on
McCarty, he waited like a champion guarding the pass.

"All right, Stover?"

Some one near him repeated the question.

"Come on!" he answered.

McCarty's one hundred and seventy pounds came rushing down. But this
time the instinct was strong. He slacked a bit at the end as Stover,
not waiting his coming, plunged in to meet him. Down they went again,
but this time it was the force of Stover's impact that threw them.

When Cockrell came up, Dink, altogether groggy, was entwined around
one leg of McCarty with a gaunt grin of possession.

They hauled him up, patted him on the back and walked him up and down
in the cool breeze. Suddenly, after several minutes, the mist rose. He
saw the fields and heard the sharp cries of the coaches prodding on
the players. Then he looked up to find Garry Cockrell's arm about him.

"All right now?" said the captain's voice.

Stover hastily put the arm away from him.

"I'm all right."

"Did I give you a little too much, youngster?"

"I'm ready again," said Stover instantly.

Cockrell laughed a short, contented laugh.

"You've done enough for to-day."

"I'll learn how," said Dink doggedly.

"You know the real things in football now, my boy," said the captain
shortly. "We'll teach you the rest."

Dink thought he meant it sarcastically.

"You will give me a chance, won't you?" he said.

"Yes," said the captain, laying his hand on his shoulder with a smile.
"You'll get chance enough, my boy. Fact is, I'm going to start you in
at end on the scrub. You'll get all the hard knocks you're looking for
there. You won't get any credit for what you do--but you boys are
what's going to make the team."

"Oh, sir, do you mean it?"

"I'm in the habit of meaning things."

"I'll--I'll----" began Stover, and then stopped before the
impossibility of expressing how many times his life should be thrown
t