“Too low, Page! Aim higher.”
“Pretty fair, Hazard, but put some jump into it. Remember you’re not patting him on the back; you’re trying to stop him—and stop him short. Try again now.”
Jim had never hurled himself at a tackling dummy before but he had tackled players in a game and he strove to create the illusion that the canvas-covered figure was real. The pully creaked, the dummy slid across the pit, wobbling and turning, and Jim ran and dived with outstretched arms. Thump! Rattle! His nose was buried in the cold loam and his arms were tightly wrapped about the stuffed canvas legs. He scrambled to his feet and cast an inquiring look at the coach. Johnny nodded noncommittally and Jim took up his place at the end of the line again. And so it went on for twenty minutes longer. Jim’s next try brought slight commendation with the criticism and the third attempt went off handsomely.
“That’s the stuff, Hazard! Just as though you meant it. Some of you fellows go at that dummy as though you were afraid you’d hurt it. That’ll do for to-day. Back to the bench! On the trot!”
By now Jim was tuckered and aching, with one side of his face smeared with dirt and his right elbow sticking forth from the faded blue jersey he wore. But football was in his blood now and so he was highly disappointed when Johnny called to him and ordered him once around the field at a jog and back to the gym.
“But I’m not tired, sir,” he ventured. Johnny scowled.
“I didn’t ask you if you were tired,” he said shortly. “Do as I tell you. Get on the scales after your shower and let me know your weight. Maybe you’d better come back here after you’re dressed and watch scrimmage. I may want to use you to-morrow.”
So Jim jogged around the field, his eyes on the others as he went, and wished heartily that he had come out for the team at the beginning of the term. Had he done that, he reflected, he might now be one of the fortunate number running through signals. Well, he reflected, he hadn’t done so badly for the first time. He doubted if Johnny even suspected what a green candidate he was. And he meant to learn. They thought he could play good football and he meant to prove them right!
Half way down the backstretch of the running track he passed near Poke who was going through signals with the first squad. Poke waved to him and grinned.
“How’d you get on?” he called.