"But almost a fumble!" came the sharp voice of Coach Jackson. "What was the matter, Fairfield? You nearly dropped the ball."
"It wasn't passed accurately," asserted Tom.
"Aw, go on! It was so!" snapped Sam.
"Well, don't let it happen again," advised the coach. "Fumbles are costly—they mean the loss of a game many a time. Watch yourselves!"
The play went on, with the luckless scrubs being shoved slowly back toward their own goal. There they took a brace, and held for downs, getting the ball. They quickly kicked it out of danger, and then the regulars went to work to do it all over again.
Tom was called on several times, and, though he watched Sam narrowly, there was no further cause for complaint about the passing of the ball.
"Maybe it was a mistake," thought Tom, "but I'm going to be on the lookout just the same. I don't trust Sam Heller."
"That will do for to-day," called the coach, after two touchdowns had been rolled up against the scrub, Tom making one of them. "Take a good shower and a rub now, all of you, scrub included, for there's no telling when I may want one of you scrub lads on the first team. You're doing pretty well," he allowed himself to compliment them. "But there's lots to be done yet. We're only beginning. Morse, come here, I want to talk to you," and captain and coach walked off the gridiron, arm in arm.
"Well, what do you think of it?" asked Jack of Tom, as the two came out of the gymnasium, glowing from a rub and shower.
"Oh, it seemed to go all right."