At first it didn’t seem that they knew very much, for signals went wrong, fumble followed fumble and the players became occasionally so inextricably mixed up that scrimmage had to be halted while they were disentangled. But Coach Burtis, alternately umpire and critic, was possessed of a vast patience, and toward the last of the first ten minutes things went better. Team A worked down to the opponent’s twelve yards and would have scored if the line had held. But a B Team tackle trickled through and laid White on his back before he was well started on a wide run, and after that Frick, quarter-back on the attacking side, missed a try-at-goal by many yards.
A five-minute rest followed, during which the coach and the trainer and Grover Beech lectured and criticized, and then, with many changes in each line-up, the scrimmage began again. Toby still decorated a bench, looking rather colorful with his red thatch obtruding from a blue blanket. Toby had dutifully watched the efforts of the players, but it cannot be truthfully said that he learned much. Perhaps he was too attentive to the performance and fortunes of Sid Creel at center on Team B. Sid appeared to be playing his position rather well, Toby thought, although he didn’t pretend to be anything of a judge. At least, Sid lasted longer than most fellows of his team, returning breathless to the bench only when the last period was more than half over. He squirmed into a place beside Toby, pulling a blanket about his broad shoulders.
“I guess he didn’t have much on me,” Sid panted, “if he is ten pounds heavier!”
“Who?” asked Toby.
“Watson. He didn’t get past me once, and I turned him twice. Did you notice?”
“Who’s Watson? Their center?”
“Yes. If they’d given us a couple of decent guards we’d have put it all over that bunch. Burnett isn’t so bad, but Hodgson laid down every time any one looked at him! You didn’t get in, did you? What are you trying for?”
“That’s what I’ve been wondering, Sid.”
“I mean what position.”
“How do I know? End, I suppose. Or half. Search me!”