“No, eggs,” replied Sid sarcastically. “Well, why not? If he can teach a team to play like that by midseason he’s worth it.”
“Maybe,” agreed Beech. “If you’re running that kind of a school. But the best college football coach doesn’t get any more, and——”
“They say Brown and Young’s has an enrollment this fall of nearly seven hundred, and it’s only three or four years old,” said Sid. “So I guess they can afford to pay a real salary to the coach. And I guess it pays them to afford it. Wonder, though, how much the Principal gets!”
“Oh, the Principal isn’t important,” observed Toby. “I dare say he just gets his room and meals and stationery, the poor fish! He ought to take a tumble to himself and study football. I had a sort of an idea I might be a railroad president or own a bank, or something modest like that, but I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to be a football coach. It pays better and the hours are shorter.”
“But think of the responsibility,” chuckled Beech. “Wealth isn’t everything, Tucker.”
“Say, do these yellow-legs play Broadwood?” demanded Sid.
“No, I don’t believe so. They never have,” replied Beech.
“Too bad. I wish they would. We’d get a dandy line on Broadwood.”
“And Broadwood would get a dandy line on us. Don’t see that it would help much. Well, here they come again. No, it’s our fellows. Get onto your job, Fless!”
The cheer leader gave a startled look over his shoulder, grabbed his big blue megaphone and jumped to his feet. “Come on, Yardley! Every one up! Regular cheer, with nine ‘Yardleys!’ One! Two!——”