Later it got buried under a book and so during the course of a busy day or two Toby again forgot it. He might have remembered it on Sunday, which, as at every preparatory school in the land, was the recognized letter-writing day of the week at Yardley, but he didn’t. He wrote to his folks in the afternoon until Arn, who never spent much time on his correspondence, dragged him away to the river and a certain shining blue canoe. Then he finished the epistle in the evening just before bedtime, and retired with a fine feeling of duty performed. Monday witnessed a change in temperature. There was a light frost on the ground when Toby and Arnold hurried over to chapel, and, although the middle of the day was bright and warm, by the time practice began on the gridirons there was enough nip in the air to make work with the pigskin more agreeable.
Toby found himself on a squad of fellows of much his own age and football experience—or lack of it. It didn’t seem to him that he showed much promise of ever being better than a dub at the game, and while he did rather enjoy the work, he was not vastly concerned over the prospect of being dropped. He had been dropped very promptly last fall, and he expected a similar fate this season. Of course, he was heavier now than then, but he guessed football required something more than weight of a fellow. Sid Creel was playing center on another squad in signal drill that Monday afternoon, so far as Toby could discern, conducting himself in a highly meritorious fashion. Sid had weight and, apparently, ability, and Toby decided that this year his good-natured perseverance was to be rewarded.
After three quarters of an hour of “baby-play” the Second Team candidates were summoned to the bench and Coach Burtis announced the first scrimmage. “Who have we for center on B Team, Harris?” he asked the trainer.
“Center? Well, there’s Galvin and that tow-headed chap over there, Coach. And Creel. Creel’s got the build, all right. Want to try him?”
“Yes. And Burnett and Hodgson for guards. And—what’s your name, you chap?”
“Thorson, sir.”
“Well, Thorson, you take left tackle on B. I want another tackle now. Who wants to play tackle? All right, I’ll take you: the fellow in the green sweater. Now, a couple of ends, Harris. Yes, they’ll do. Burns at quarter. Come on, Burns! And Folwell and——”
“Nelson’s played half, Mr. Burtis,” suggested Grover Beech.
“I want him on A Team. Who else is there? Fosdick? All right. And that fellow down there, whatever his name is, for full-back. All right, get out there, fellows! You referee, Harris, please. I’ll be ump. I want all the rest of you chaps to follow the play closely and learn all you can. We’ll play two ten-minute periods, Harris. Team A takes the ball and north goal. Now then, let’s see what you fellows know about the game!”