As several of the cadets were lame and stiff from the unusual exertion in the Dunkirk game, only light practice was indulged in. Several minor faults were corrected, and then the coaches put their charges through some wing-shift plays, and gave them a chance to improve their work in the on-side kick and the forward pass, in both of which the Kentfield lads were a trifle uncertain.
"Oh, we'll have you in shape to tackle Haskell before you know it," said Mr. Martin encouragingly.
If any of the players were doubtful about this they did not say so, and they took heart from the confident air Dick Hamilton assumed.
In the days that followed the practice gradually became more and more rigorous, and, as a result, fast, snappy playing became the order of the day.
"Have you heard whether or not Haskell will play us?" asked Paul of Dick one night, as they sat in their room studying and waiting for "taps" to sound.
"No, I haven't. I meant to ask Hatfield to-day whether he had heard from their manager, but I was so busy drilling a squad of raw recruits that I didn't get a chance. Guess I'll go to his room now and ask him. I'll have time I think."
As Dick arose there sounded the mournful yet sweet notes of the bugle that was a signal for "lights" out.
"Too late!" exclaimed Paul.
"I'll chance it," ventured Dick. "I can cross to his dormitory by the rear path, and the sentries are hardly posted yet. Besides, I guess they won't report me when they know it's football matters. I'm anxious to know."
"Better stay here—morning will do," counseled Paul.