“No, no, Loring will have to play the game through if he can.”
“He can do it, barring injury, sir.”
“It’s too bad about Clapp. This is his last year, too, poor chap. How’s he getting on?”
“First rate, sir. He’ll be able to see the Broadwood game, likely.”
“That’s good. Well, I guess I’ll take your advice, Andy, and cut out the scrimmage to-morrow. I wish we might have a spell of good cold weather.”
“We need it, sir; this sort of thing takes the life out of ’em. It’s a touch of frost they need. They ain’t eating right. If they don’t pick up by Friday, sir, I’d say give ’em a signal drill and hand ’em over to me for a walk.”
“All right, Andy, you know your end of it better than I do. But remember that I ought to have three days of hard work yet and give them to me as soon as you can.”
Instead of improving, the weather got worse. Thursday and Friday were soft, muggy, cloudy days without a bit of life in the air. The only consolation Payson could find was in reflecting that the conditions were just as unfavorable for Broadwood as they were for Yardley. Thursday there was the blackboard talk in the trophy room and the first trials of the new plays on the gymnasium floor. Friday signal practice was held out of doors, there was a little punting and catching for the backs and then Andy took them off for a five-mile walk along the shore. At supper that night the trainer thought he could detect an improvement in the spirits of his men. Appetites were better and the talk was more sprightly than it had been since the Brewer game.
Saturday dawned bright and warm, but there was a light breeze off the water that promised to freshen as the day advanced. The Nordham game was set for three o’clock. After luncheon Gerald showed up and he and Dan spent a half-hour together before the latter went over to the gymnasium to dress. Gerald was an enthusiastic Yardley Hall boy now; one would have thought that he was already enrolled.