“That’s what I like to see,” complimented the coach. “Now, boys, play that way against Fairview on Saturday, and you’ll open the season with a victory. I want you to win. Then we’ll have a better chance for the championship. The schedule is different from the baseball one, you know. We don’t play so many games with Boxer Hall and Fairview as we did in the spring, consequently each one counts more. Now I’m going to give you some individual instruction.”
Which the coach did very thoroughly, getting at the weak spots in each man’s playing, and commenting wisely on it, at the same time showing him how he ought to play his position. There was practice in passing the ball, falling on it, kicking and tackling.
“We want to do considerable work in the forward pass and the on-side kick this season,” the coach went on. “I think you are doing very well. Parsons, don’t forget to put all the speed you can into your runs, when getting down on kicks.
“You Jersey twins don’t want to be watching each other so. I know you are fond of one another, but try to forget that you are brothers, and be more lively in the game.”
Jerry and Joe Jackson joined in the laugh that followed.
“As for you, Snail Looper,” continued Coach Lighton, giving the center the name he had earned from his habit of prowling about nights and moving at slow speed, “you are doing fairly well, but be a little quicker. Try to forget that you’re a relative of the Helix Mollusca. You backs, get into plays on the jump, and take advantage of the momentum. That’s the way to smash through the line. Now then, we’ll try signals again. Clinton, keep a cool head. Nothing is worse than getting your signals mixed, and you fellows, if you don’t understand exactly what the play is, call for the signal to be repeated. That will save costly fumbles. Now line up again.”
They went through the remainder of the practice with a snap and vim that did the heart of the coach and the captain good. The scrub team was pretty well worn out when a halt was called.
“Do you think you will beat Fairview?” asked Ford Fenton of Tom a little later, when the left-end and Phil were on their way to supper, after a refreshing shower bath.
“I hope so, Ford. But you never can tell. Football is pretty much a gamble.”
“Yes, I suppose so. But my uncle says——”