There was hard practice that afternoon in preparation for the Musket Hill Academy game, and the second squad, in process of becoming the second team, with a coach and signals of its own, was sent against the first for three long periods. Myron found himself with the third squad, as usual, however, and ended practice with a half-hour scrimmage against the substitutes. Perhaps Cummins’ words had made an impression, for he certainly played good, hard ball today and ran rings around the opposing ends and backs. As they played on the second team gridiron, while the first team was battling, his performance was not noted by the coach. But Keene, an end who was off with a bad ankle and who refereed the scrimmage, saw and casually made mention of Myron’s work to Jud Mellen later.
“That chap Foster played a nifty game today,” said Keene. “He might bear watching, Jud.”
“Foster? Yes, he’s not half bad. If we didn’t have so many good halves he might be useful. Best we can do for him, though, is to carry him over for next year, I guess.”
“Well, he’s a pretty player. It seems too bad to waste him. How would he fit at end?”
“Looking for a chance to retire?” laughed Jud. “What would we do with another end, Larry? Have a heart, man!”
“Well, but he ought to be tried somewhere, just the same, Jud. He plays so blamed smooth!”
“I wonder if he’d make a quarter.” Jud paused in the act of lacing a shoe and stared speculatively at a grated and dusty window. Then he shook his head. “I guess we’re good enough at quarter. We’ll know better after Saturday’s game, though. How’s the foot getting on? Going to be able to play a bit?”
“Sure! It’s coming on fine. I’ll be good for the whole game.”
“Yes, you will, son! A couple of quarters is about your stunt, I guess. Driscoll wants to give O’Curry a show, anyway. Know what I think? Well, I think Musket Hill’s going to give us a tough old tussle. They’ve got almost every lineman they had last year and the same quarter; and you know what the score was last time.”
“Twelve to ten, wasn’t it?”