“Well, but—you’re not captain! And how can you build up a team when you’re not?”
“How? You watch me. Take your case, old chap. Maybe you won’t make good this year. Mind, I say maybe. I think you will. But if you don’t, what?” Myron shook his head helplessly, signifying he gave it up and that no matter what the answer proved to be he was beyond surprise! “Why, you’ll be A1 material for next—if you keep your head up. That’s my game, to see that you keep going and learn all the football you can and don’t drop out of training after the season’s over. I think basket-ball will be a good thing for you to take up, Foster. Or you might go in for the gymnastic team. But I won’t have you playing baseball, so don’t get that bug in your bonnet. Baseball’s spoiled a lot of good football chaps. Track’s all right if you don’t overdo it. We’ll settle all that later, though.”
“Very well,” agreed Myron docilely. “Don’t mind me.”
Chas grinned. “Not going to—much. But you see the idea, don’t you? What do you think of it?”
“I think,” returned Myron deliberately, “that it’s one of the craziest schemes I ever heard of.”
Chas looked much pleased. “All right. And then what?”
“And I think it may work out beautifully.”
“Sure it will! So that’s why I went after you, old chap. You’re a ‘prospect.’”