Gerald was silent a moment, watching the efforts of Yardley to carry the pigskin over the remaining four white lines intervening between it and the Greenburg goal. At last, “I’ll tell you, Harry,” he said, “I’ve always felt a sort of interest in Kendall ever since he butted into the room one night with the calm announcement to Dan that he’d like to join the football team. Towne put him up to it, you know.”
“I hear Towne isn’t coming back this year,” interpolated Harry.
“You can’t make me feel bad that way,” replied Gerald. “Well, I really meant to cultivate Kendall after that, but I got busy with the cross-country work and one thing and another and didn’t see much of him. Ned Tooker sort of took him up, though, and he seemed in pretty good hands. Then came that affair of the field goal and the school made a hero of him, or would have had he let them. Dan was interested in Kendall, too, and we got him over to the room once or twice, but he seemed afraid of coming when he wasn’t wanted, and we sort of gave him up after awhile.
“But Dan was a great believer in Kendall. Said he was the most ‘natural’ football player he had ever seen. And he also said”—Gerald lowered his voice—“that unless something happened, like Kendall getting hurt or leaving school, he would be captain before he got through here.”
Harry whistled softly but expressively.
“And you know Dan doesn’t make mistakes,” added Gerald, his fondness for his friend sounding in his voice.
“Looks as if he’d made one this time, though, doesn’t it?” asked Harry with a smile.
“Why?”
“Why? Well, look.” Harry nodded to where Kendall was racing up the field after a punt. “He’s only first sub now and next year is his last, isn’t it?”