“But me no buts! You keep in mind—There’s Driscoll calling you. Go to it, old chap!”
“Go in on the second there at full-back, Foster. You know the signals, don’t you? All right. Now show something. Warren, give your full-back some work. Come on, first! Get into it! Let’s see some playing!”
The whistle piped before Myron had settled into position, however, and he went back to the bench with the rest and listened to criticism and instruction and moistened his throat with water and half wished that Chas Cummins had let him alone. But, back on the field presently, with the ball arching away overhead, he forgot his stage-fright and gripped his nose-guard with his teeth and piled into the play. Warren, acting on instructions, gave him plenty of work, and he didn’t do it so badly, all things considered. At least, he made three good gains and he got away two punts, one of which surprised him. On defence he showed up decidedly well, and Warren, an earnest little shock-headed youth, gave him praise more than once. He had some bad moments, as when, ball in hand for a toss to O’Curry across the line, he found himself besieged by two rampant first team forwards who had somehow broken through, and, unable to heave, let himself be forced back many yards. Afterwards, he told himself aggrievedly that Warren had no right to call on him for a forward-pass, that he had never had much of it to do and couldn’t be expected to be proficient. Besides, if your line let the whole opposing team through on top of you, what could you do, anyway?
How Coach Driscoll had been impressed, Myron had no means of knowing. The coach made no comments. Myron concluded that he had failed to make good, and he dressed himself and went back to Sohmer in a rather depressed state of mind. But after supper Chas breezed in and relieved him. “Rotten? Nothing of the sort!” declared Chas. “You were positively good, old chap! I’ll bet Driscoll is scratching Houghton this minute and writing ‘Foster’ in his little red book. If you don’t find yourself playing full-back again tomorrow I’ll—I’ll eat my hat. And I need it, too, having none other. You didn’t see our young friend, did you, Dobbins?”
“No,” answered Joe. “I wasn’t out.”
“Well, he’s the coming marvel. There’s no doubt about it. All he’s got to do is learn the position.”
Joe and Myron laughed, the former the more merrily. “That sounds sort of like a real job,” he commented.
“It isn’t, really,” answered Chas earnestly. “You see, Foster knows all the moves but he doesn’t know where to fit them in. After all, playing football is playing football, whether you’re in the line or back of it, Dobbins. I’ll bet that, if I had to, I could step into any position on the team tomorrow and get by with it. I don’t say I’d be a wonder, but I’d do the trick fairly well. That may sound like conceited guff, but it’s a fact, fellows. Foster’s played half, and a full-back’s only a half with another name and a few different things to do. He’ll learn in a week. I’ve got all my money on him to win. I’m tickled, too. When Foster came to me and asked if I thought he could play full-back——”
“When I what?” gasped Myron.