e end of that stand. Halt there for
a minute, then turn and come back."

He drew out a stop watch.

"All set? Then--git!"

George streaked down the field.

"It's an even hundred yards," the trainer explained to Bailly.

As George paused at the end of the stand the trainer snapped his watch,
whistling.

"There are lots with running shoes and drawers wouldn't do any better.
Let's have him back."

He waved his arm. George tore up and leant against the railing,
breathing hard, but not uncomfortably.

"You were a full second slower coming back," the trainer said with a
twinkle.

"I'm sorry," George cried. "Let me try it again."

Green shook his head.

"I'd rather see you make a tackle, but I've no one to spare."

He grinned invitation at Bailly.

"My spirit, Green," the tutor said, "is less fragile than my corpus, but
it has some common-sense. I prefer others should perish at the hands of
my discoveries."

"You've scrubbed around," the trainer said, appraising George's long,
muscular legs. "Ever kick a football?"

"A little."

Green entered the field house, reappearing after a moment with a
football tucked under his arm.

"Do you mind stepping down the field, Mr. Bailly, to catch what he
punts? I wouldn't go too far."

Bailly nodded and walked a short distance away. The trainer gave George
the football and told him to kick it to Bailly. George stepped on the
grass and swung his leg. If the ball had travelled horizontally as far
as it did toward heaven it would have been a good kick. For half an hour
the trainer coached interestedly, teaching George the fundamentals of
kicking form. Some of the later punts, indeed, boomed down the field for
considerable distances, but in George's mind the high light of that
unexpected experience remained the lanky, awkward figure in wrinkled
tweeds, limping about the field, sometimes catching the ball, sometimes
looking hurt when it bounded from his grasp, sometimes missing it
altogether, and never once losing the flashing pleasure from his eyes or
the excitement out of his furrowed face.

"Enough," the trainer said at last.

George heard him confide to the puffing tutor:

"Possibilities. Heaven knows we'll need them a year from this fall,
especially in the kicking line. I believe this fellow can be taught."

Bailly, his hands shaking from his recent exercise, lighted a pipe. He
assumed a martyr's air. His voice sounded as though someone had done him
an irrepara