There was no practice for the first the next afternoon, but the other squads were put through a full day’s work. To Myron’s surprise, Cummins took command when scrimmage time came, Coach Driscoll disappearing from the field. Myron found himself at left half on the second squad, with Houghton at full-back. In that position he played for five minutes. Then Cummins, who was evidently very hard to please today, called a halt.
“That’ll do, Bob,” he told Houghton. “O Billy! Got a full-back there?”
“I have not,” answered the trainer. “I’ve got a half here. Want him?”
“Wait a minute.” Cummins ran his eye over the second squad backs. “Foster, have you ever played full?” he growled.
“No,” answered Myron.
“Want to try it? All right, fall back here. Send your half in, Billy.”
Myron heartily wished that Cummins hadn’t shifted him, for while he had a very fair notion of a full-back’s duties, he wasn’t at all keen about displaying his knowledge under those circumstances. He was, he felt, bound to make a hash of the job, and there were several fellows within a few yards who would be tickled to death to have him do so. He was glad he had discounted his failure by acknowledging his inexperience. When Cummins had asked him, he hadn’t known whether the temporary coach had expected him to say yes or no. He didn’t know yet, but he felt that his reply had certainly been the better one.
Cummins wasn’t gentle with him. Every mistake he made, and he made many, was pointed out to him in emphatic language. Myron wanted to pinch himself to make certain that he wasn’t dreaming. Cummins had conspired with him to get him into the position of full-back and now he was snarling and growling at him quite as though Myron had forced himself into the place on false pretences. Myron thought that in consideration of the circumstances Cummins might have dealt a little less harshly with his shortcomings. But, on the whole, Myron didn’t do so badly. He honestly believed that he was playing as well as the deposed Houghton. Cummins didn’t let him punt, for which he was grateful, and he encouraged Warren, who was playing at quarter, to use many end plays. Outside of tackle, Myron was usually successful whenever he received the pigskin, and he once or twice made good on plunges at the centre of the line. There, however, his lack of weight told somewhat. In the first twelve-minute period the second squad got one touchdown and goal and might have had a second score if Cummins had not put them back from the eight yards to the eighteen on some whim of his own. Third got the ball on downs six inches from the last white streak and punted out of danger, and the second was mad enough to rend Cummins limb from limb! When a five-minute rest came Cummins called Myron from the bench and led him into the field. To those watching it was perfectly evident that Chas was telling the green full-back how absolutely rotten he was. They would have been surprised had they heard the conversation out there.
“You weren’t half bad, old chap,” said Chas eagerly, yet scowling ferociously still. “You slowed up once or twice when you hit the line, though. Try to keep going hard. A good way to do is to think of the other fellow’s goal line instead of his players. Sort of make yourself think that’s where you’re going. You’ll get farther before you’re stopped, if you are stopped. How do you like it?”
“All right,” answered Myron, a bit grumpily. “But considering that I’ve never played it before it seems to me you might let up on me a bit. You go on as if I’d murdered my grandmother!”