“No use to try Springer or Hooker,” said the coach in a low tone. “Neither is fitted for the place. In fact, we haven’t a man.”
Ben Stone, the left guard, an uncomely chap who, nevertheless, had become amazingly popular with the boys, chanced to overhear these words. In a moment he joined them.
“Why don’t you ask Grant again, captain?” he suggested. “I don’t know why it is, but I have a notion that he can play the game.”
“Grant?” said Roger in surprise. “I’ve asked him once, and he refused. Where is he?”
“Sitting alone over yonder on the seats,” answered Ben, with a movement of his head. “I saw him come in shortly after we commenced work.”
“Oh, yes,” muttered Roger, perceiving the solitary figure of Rod Grant. “There he is. Confound him! why doesn’t he come forward like a man and get into it? I did my best to induce him.”
“Let me talk to him,” said Winton, starting quickly toward the young Texan.
Barker, observant, strolled over in the wake of the coach.
Reaching the lower tier of seats, Winton shot a sudden question at Rodney Grant:
“Do you know anything about football?”