Perhaps no one was more delighted with the events of the afternoon than Hope. She made heroes of Gil and Poke and Jim, and especially Jim. “You played perfectly jimmy!” she declared. “And I saw Grace Andrews there and I was just as proud and sticky as—as anything! Wasn’t it too funny, Jim, you should have played against her brother?”
“Was that who he was?” asked Jim. “I didn’t know his name. He’s pretty light for a tackle.”
(Jim, you see, was already talking like an expert.)
“Well, anyhow, you played all around him. Jeff said so. And we beat them, didn’t we?”
“We ought to. We were pounds heavier, sis.”
“I wish you could have seen Lady when Jeff told her that you were going to play. She covered up her face with her hands and then looked through her fingers every minute!”
That was Jim’s baptism by fire and those few minutes of play gave him new courage to go on with his rôle. On Monday practice was lengthened and the work became a good deal like drudgery. One had to have a real passion for football in order to really get any enjoyment out of the proceedings. For the first part of the week scrimmaging was abandoned entirely, and Johnny, who had detected a lack of fundamental knowledge in the players, took them back to first principles, and even Duncan Sargent himself was put to tackling the dummy and handling the ball. On Thursday the one scrimmage of the week was held and Jim fought through ten minutes on the second team at left tackle and had his hands very full in keeping Cosgrove and Shepard, who opposed him, from making him look like the inexperienced player he was. But Jim kept his wits about him, worked hard, bluffed harder, and pulled through creditably. And every day now he was gaining knowledge and knack and football sense. And every day the awkwardness which had puzzled the trainer was wearing off. Jim had strength of body and plenty of sound sense, and he was developing both every day. And so, by the end of that week, the school was taking notice of him and fellows were discussing his chance of ousting Curtis from the second team. In short, he had made good. And Poke was as pleased as might be.
“What did I tell you, Jimmy, my boy?” he asked that Friday night. “Didn’t I tell you I’d make a real player out of you? Didn’t I tell you you’d be down on your knees thanking me for my efforts in your behalf, you ungrateful pup?”
“Well, I’m not going down on my knees,” laughed Jim. “They’re much too lame.”
“Look here, Jim,” broke in Jeffrey excitedly, “if you can manage to get on the first team before the season’s through think what it would mean! Why, out of eleven men there’d be three from Sunnywood!”