They had paused in front of Oxford.
“No, sir, there’s five minutes yet,” answered Dan.
“All right. What I was going to say was that if every fellow would use his brains a little it would be a help. I don’t profess to have mastered this ‘new football’; I was brought up on the old style, you know; and I’ve got a heap to learn myself. But if every fellow will think a little about it, and come to me with the result, why, we may light on something that will make Broadwood open her eyes. Now you, for instance, Vinton. You’ve been up against this problem and you solved it after a fashion. Supposing you face it again; imagine that it’s up to you to find a way of pulling off forward passes that will beat anything Broadwood can show; make believe, if you like, that you’re captain and coach all rolled into one and that everything depends on you. I’m not talking to every fellow this way, for some of them can’t use their brains. But I’ve spoken to Colton and Loring and Hill and Capes and one or two others and they’ve agreed to tackle the problem. And some night pretty soon we’ll meet in my room in the village and talk it over. It’ll be a sort of advisory council, do you see? Now what do you say?”
Dan hesitated a moment. At first it had seemed to him that the coach was adding insult to injury in asking him to work for the success of a team that he was not considered good enough to play on. But his resentment was short-lived. If he could aid, it was his duty to do it. Yardley was as much his school as it was Colton’s or Loring’s, and if he couldn’t fight for it on the gridiron he could fight on the side-line. Besides, after all, it was pleasing to his vanity to be asked to help in this way. Even if Payson didn’t think very highly of him as a player he evidently respected his football knowledge and wits. So he looked up at Mr. Payson frankly and answered:
“I’ll do what I can, sir. I don’t suppose I can help much, but I’ll try.”
“That’s the way to talk, Vinton,” answered the coach. “And I’m much obliged. Whatever you can do will help me and it will help the school. Whenever you want to talk anything over you look me up. You’ll find me at home usually in the evenings if you care to drop in. I’ll be glad to see you any time. Hope I haven’t made you late.”
But Dan wouldn’t have cared if he had. It was worth one of Kilts’ sharpest “call-downs” to have that comforting sensation of being Somebody again. Since he had read the list in the gymnasium yesterday afternoon Dan had felt like a very unimportant Nobody! As he hurried up the steps and down the corridor to the recitation room he strove to recall a line that he had read or heard somewhere. “He also serves who only sits around and waits;” wasn’t that it? Well, something like that, any way. It wasn’t quite applicable to the present case, but it expressed the right idea.
But when it came time for football practice Dan discovered that even the re-establishment of his self-esteem didn’t give him the courage to go to the field and stand around on the side-line in his everyday clothes to be pointed out as one of the fellows who hadn’t “made good”! Perhaps after a day or two he could face it with equanimity, but to-day the wound was too fresh. So, although he would have much preferred watching practice, he went for a walk in the other direction, crossing the bridge above the railroad cut and waiting while an east-bound express roared by beneath him with a suffocating cloud of smoke and steam, and turning at the foot of the hill to the right to follow an unexplored path to the beach. There were three paths through the woods and Dan knew the other two by heart, but this one, the more westerly and the more roundabout, was new to him.
It started off in a leisurely way toward the river, winding and twisting prettily through the beeches and oaks and maples, and then, as though weary of indecision, swerved toward the Sound and marched away as straight and uncompromising as though laid out by an engineer. But the reason of its sudden reformation was apparent, for almost beside the path ran a high rustic fence. This fence, as Dan knew, marked the boundary of the school grounds on the west. Beyond it lay the country estate of John T. Pennimore, the Steamship King, as the newspapers loved to call him. He was one of the country’s rich men and Dan had heard of him often enough. Once Mr. Vinton had received a business letter from him and had brought it home to exhibit, not without a trace of pride, to his family. Sound View, as the estate was named, comprised some eight or nine acres fronting on the Sound and the Wissining River. There was an immense stone residence, barns and stables, hot houses, gardeners’ lodge and several smaller buildings of which one was known as the Bungalow and stood just above the beach near the Yardley line. Much of the property was wooded and only an occasional glimpse was to be had of the residence and stables. Now and then, however, as Dan followed the path a sudden thinning of the trees gave a brief view of velvety lawn or brilliant flower bed, and once the back of the big house was fairly in sight.
Where Sound and river met there was a long stone pier and a boat house. In front of the pier, a few hundred feet off-shore, lay the Pennimore steam yacht, a magnificent craft, resplendant in white and brass, large enough to cross the ocean in had the whim seized its owner. But John T. Pennimore was not a man of whims, and from June to late in the Autumn the Princess made almost daily trips to and fro between the summer home and the city, reeling off the miles like an express train. When the Princess lay at anchor off Sound View it was known that the Steamship King was at home. Dan wondered idly whether he would see the big yacht when he reached the end of the path. It must be jolly, he thought, to own a place like Sound View, and a yacht, and horses and carriages, and automobiles and—