se had
hopes. There was talk and laughter, and admiring and envying glances
were cast at the big men--those who had played on the varsity team last
year. They were like the lords of creation.

The car stopped near the towering grandstands that hemmed in the
gridiron, and Andy swarmed with the others into the dressing rooms.

"Lively now!" snapped Holwell, one of the coaches. "Get out on the
field, you fellows, and try tackling the dummy."

A grotesque figure hung from a cross beam, and against this the
candidates hurled themselves, endeavoring to clasp the elusive knees in
a hard tackle. There were many failures, some of the lads missing the
figure entirely and sliding along on their faces. Andy did fairly well,
but if he looked for words of praise he was disappointed.

This practice went on for several days, and then came other gridiron
work, falling on the ball, punting and drop kicking. Andy was no star,
but he managed to stand out among the others, and there was no lack of
material that year.

Then came scrimmage practice, the tentative varsity eleven lining up
against the scrub. With all his heart Andy longed to get into this, but
for days he sat on the bench and watched others being called before him.
But he did not neglect practice on this account.

Then, one joyful afternoon he heard his name called by the coach.

"Get in there at right half and see what you can go," was snapped at
him. "Don't fuddle the signals--smash through--follow the interference,
and keep your eyes on the ball. Blake, give him the signals."

The scrub quarter took him to one side and imparted a simple code used
at practice.

"Now, scrub, take the ball," snapped the coach, "and see what you can
do."

There was a quick line-up. Andy was trembling, but he managed to hold
himself down. He looked over at the varsity. To his surprise Mortimer
was being tried at tackle.

"Ready!" shrilly called the scrub quarter.
"Signal--eighteen--forty-seven--shift--twenty-one--nineteen--"

It was the signal for Andy to take the ball through right tackle and
guard. He received the pigskin and with lowered head and hunched
shoulders shot forward. He saw a hole torn in the varsity line for him,
and leaped through it. The opening was a good one, and the coach raved
at the fatal softness of the first-team players. Andy saw his chance and
sprinted forward.

But the next instant, after covering a few yards, he was fiercely
tackled by Mortimer, who th