“Hang it all!” exclaimed Joe, as he paced up and down, “why didn’t I think to make some inquiries?”
“It would have been better,” agreed Ricky. “But there’s no great harm done. You can play on the Freshman team this coming season, and then, when you’re a Soph., you can go on that team, and you’ll be in line for the ’varsity. You can play on the Junior team, if you like, and they have some smashing good games once in a while.”
“But it isn’t the ’varsity,” lamented Joe.
“No. But look here, old man; you’ve got to take things as they come. I don’t want to preach, but——”
“That’s all right—slam it into me!” exclaimed Joe. “I need it—I deserve it. It’ll do me good. I won’t be so cock-sure next time. But I hoped to make the ’varsity this season.”
“It’ll be better for you in the end not to have done so,” went on his friend. “You need more practice, than you have had, to take your place on the big team. A season with the Freshmen will give it to you. You’ll learn the ropes better—get imbued with some of the Yale spirit, and you’ll be more of a man. It’s no joke, I tell you, to pitch on the ’varsity.”
“No, I imagine not,” agreed Joe, slowly. “Then, I suppose there’s no use of me trying to even get my name down on a sort of waiting list.”
“Not until you see how you make out on the Freshman team,” agreed Ricky. “You’ll be watched there, so look out for yourself. The old players, who act as coaches, are always on the lookout for promising material. You’ll be sized up when you aren’t expecting it. And, not only will they watch to see how you play ball, but how you act under all sorts of cross-fire, and in emergencies. It isn’t going to be any cinch.”
“No, I can realize that,” replied Joe. “And so Weston has been through the mill, and made good?”
“He’s been through the mill, that’s sure enough,” agreed Ricky, “but just how good he’s made will have to be judged later. He wasn’t such a wonder last season.”