“No, we’ll go ahead whatever happens,” said Fred. “Look here, we’ll start things up tomorrow. Call a mass meeting for next Saturday night in the auditorium. I’ll see Knowles and Hodges. You get after Sterner and young Lane. Tell them we’ll want them to sign the notices and to say something at the meeting. Who else can we count on?”
“You’ll speak; and Mr. Driscoll?” Lowell looked inquiringly across at the coach and the latter nodded. “And I will, too, if you want me to. Perhaps I’d better. I can tell them facts, give them figures and so on. How about Gene? He’s Track Captain. Wouldn’t he count?”
“Gene can’t talk much,” replied Fred. “I mean he isn’t much of a speaker in public. Still, he will do his best if we ask him. I wish we knew of someone who really had the gift of the gab, someone who could get them started.”
“How about you, coach?” asked Lowell.
But Mr. Driscoll shook his head. “I’m no spellbinder,” he replied. “I’ll talk, but don’t expect eloquence, Lowell.”
“Well, we’ll just do the best we can,” said Fred. “What time can you come around tomorrow? We’ll have to draw up some notices to post and another to put in the Leader.”
“I’ll see my men in the morning and meet you at your room at half-past one,” answered Lowell. “I’m glad we’re going to get something started at last. I’m getting white-headed over it!”
“Through?” asked Mr. Driscoll. The others nodded. “Then let’s take up another subject.” He reached to the table and lifted a notebook to him. “We’ve got forty-odd men out now and we don’t want them all much longer. I think we’d better make a final cut a week from Monday. We can tell how some of the green ones size up in the High School game. I wish I’d asked Billy Goode to come around here tonight. He’s got dope on some of these chaps that I don’t know.”
“How many shall we keep?” asked Fred.
“Twenty-eight or thirty are enough. Run your eye over that list and see how it strikes you. I’ve crossed the names I mean to drop.”