As fall advanced there began to be talk about forming the football eleven. A number of new players were needed, because some of the best had graduated the previous year.
"I hope I can make the team," said Dick to Paul one evening during their study period. "I used to be considered a good player at home."
"I don't see why you can't get on. Fortunately Dutton has nothing to say about who shall play, though he's considered one of the team's supporters and backers."
"Still he may influence Captain Rutledge. I hear they are going to pick candidates this week."
"Yes, I heard Harry Hale, the coach, talking about it. I hope you make the eleven, Dick."
It was the following day, when Dick was out in the field, with some other cadets of his class, getting instruction in survey work, that he overheard something which made him feel more than ever like giving up the fight against his handicap. He was standing near a thick hedge, holding the scale rod, while another cadet was reading it through the instrument, when he heard voices behind the shrubbery.
"Looks to me like Hamilton would make a good player," he caught, and he knew that Coach Hale was speaking.
"You're right," said Captain Rutledge. "He's got the right build, and I hear he played at home."
"Aw, you don't want him on the team," expostulated a voice which Dick knew at once belonged to Captain Dutton.
"Why not?" asked the coach, in some surprise.