"Good boy!" he muttered, and turned away. Neil sped after him.
"Mr. Mills," he called. The head coach turned, annoyed by the interruption.
"Well, Fletcher; what is it?"
"Can't I get in for a while, sir?" asked Neil earnestly. "I'm feeling fine. Gillam can't last the game, nor Paul. I wish you'd let--"
"See Devoe about it," answered Mills shortly. He hurried away, leaving Neil with open mouth and reddening cheeks.
"Well, that's what I get for disappointing folks," he told himself. "Only he needn't have been quite so short. What's the good of asking Devoe? He won't let me on. And--but I'll try, just the same. Paul's had his chance and there's no harm now in looking after Neil Fletcher."
He found Devoe with Foster and one of the coaches. The latter was lecturing them forcibly in lowered tones, and Neil hesitated to interrupt; but while he stood by undecided Devoe glanced up, his face a pucker of anxiety. Neil strode forward.
"Say, Bob, get me on this half, can't you? Mills told me to see you," he begged. "Give me a chance, Bob!"
Devoe frowned impatiently and shook his head.
"Can't be done, Neil. Mills has no business sending you to me. He's looking after the fellows himself. I've got troubles enough of my own."