“They probably will this half,” said Jeffrey. “Their coach has probably seen just what you have. Somebody ought to tell Gould, too, that he is punting too low. He doesn’t give his ends a chance to get down the field. We’ve gained every time on exchange of kicks.”
At that moment a voice cried, “Hazard! Hazard! Is Hazard here?”
Jim jumped to his feet and answered. A substitute player in a much begrimed uniform ran up. “Johnny wants to see you at the gym,” he called. “Come right up.”
“What the dickens does he want?” muttered Jim. “Keep my seat for me, Jeff.”
He found Johnny in the midst of wild confusion. Rubbers were busy with strains and bruises, twenty fellows were talking at once. The close air of the locker-room was heavy with the fumes of alcohol and liniment. Johnny was deep in conversation with captain and manager.
“You wanted to see me?” asked Jim, pushing his way through the crowd.
“Yes, I do! Look here, Hazard, where do you stand?”
“Stand?”
“Yes,” replied Johnny impatiently. “Isn’t there any way you can play this half?”