"Would it take any nerve for you," he demanded, "to jump in where you knew there was a good chance of your being killed,"
"Yes; I suppose so," admitted the kicker.
"Well, every season a score or two of football ball players are killed, or crippled for life."
"But they're not looking for it," objected the kicker, "or they wouldn't go in so swift and hard. Real nerve? I'd believe in that more if I ever heard of one of these nimble-jack racers taking a big chance with his life off the field, and where there was no crowd of wild galoots to look on and cheer!"
"Of course killing and maiming are not the real objects of the game," pursued the first speaker. "Coaches and other good friends of the game are always hoping to discover some forms of rules that will make football safer. Yet I can't help feeling that the present game, despite the occasional loss of life or injury to limb, puts enough of strong, fighting manhood into the players to make the game worth all it costs."
"I want to see the nerve, and I want to see the game prove its worth," insisted the kicker.
Second eleven, though made up of bright, husky boys, was having a hard time of it. Thrice coach arbitrarily advanced the ball for second, in order to give that team a better chance with High School eleven.
And now the practice was over for the afternoon. The whistle between coach's lips sounded three prolonged blasts, and the young players, flushed, perspiring—-aching a bit, too—-came off the field. Togs were laid aside and some time was spent under the shower baths and in toweling. Only a small part of the late crowd of watchers remained at the athletic field. But the kicker and his companion were among those who stayed.
Coach Morton stood for a time talking with some citizens who had lingered. As most of these men were contributors to the athletic funds they were anxious for information.
"Do you consider the prospects good for the team this year?" asked one man.