on't forget practice at
three-thirty sharp."

With a wave of his hand he turned down Main Street, leaving Dale to stare
after him for a moment or two, an odd expression on his freckled face.

"Why, he's--he's not a bit what I-- He's just like--" He ended with a
deep-drawn breath and turned homeward, head high and shoulders squared.

Somehow the blue of the sky seemed suddenly deeper, the sunshine brighter
than it had been before. The crisp, clean autumn air had a tang in it he
had not noticed until this moment. He drew it into his lungs in great
gulps, and his eyes sparkled.

"The pants'll do," he murmured to himself; "so will the jersey. I haven't
any decent shoes, but I've played in sneakers before. And there'll be
time to deliver the papers after five."

CHAPTER IV

ON THE GRIDIRON

Ranny Phelps left the school building that afternoon in a distinctly
disagreeable mood. He had been feeling vaguely irritable all day, but
since noon there had developed grouchy tendencies, as Court Parker
termed them, and he was ready to flare up at the slightest provocation.
On the way down-stairs he had flown out at Harry Vedder, one of his
particular followers, for no other reason than that the stout youth
expressed an indolent conviction that the new tenderfoot could play
football better than he could drill, and that he would probably show
up on the field. The blow-up, instead of relieving pressure, as such
things often do, seemed to deepen Phelps's discontent, and seeing Ward
on the walk just ahead of him, he yielded to a sudden impulse and
hastily caught up with him.

"Look here, Sherm," he began hastily, "you're not really thinking
of--of--using that nut Tompkins, are you?"

The football captain glanced sidewise at him--a cool, level stare. "Why
not?" he asked briefly. "He's a member of the troop, isn't he?"

Ranny realized his mistake, but temper kept him to it. "Oh, yes! yes, of
course," he snapped petulantly. "Unfortunately he is, but I don't see
why you should encourage him. If he's shown that he--he--isn't wanted,
he may have the wit to--to--"

Conscious of Ward's prolonged, quizzical glance, the blond chap faltered,
and then, furious at himself and with his companion, he went on angrily:
"You needn't look like that. You know yourself he's the extreme limit.
Look at him now!" He waved one hand jerkily toward a group ahead, which
included the boy under discussion chatting eagerly with Parker and Bob
Gibso