“What did he say?” asked Evan with a smile. Jelly’s round face reflected the smile.
“I’d rather not tell you,” he said. “He tried to make out that I was deserting him, but that’s nonsense, isn’t it? When you’re on the Second you’re working for Hop and Prentiss. That’s why I quit.”
“The Second will never be the same without you,” said Evan, shaking his head sorrowfully.
“Oh, you fade away,” answered Jelly. “Where’s Rob?”
“Somewhere about. There he is. I guess he’s looking for you, Mal.”
“Every one this way, please!” called Rob. “Get into line and give your names to Warne. Got your book, Mal?”
Malcolm, with Rob at his elbow, passed down the lines, taking the candidates’ names and entering them with particulars as to age, class and experience in his red memorandum book. After each name was entered Rob whispered “One,” “Two,” or “Three” into Malcolm’s ear and the manager set down the fateful number opposite the entry. As fast as a fellow gave his name he was sent into the field to make one of a ring of candidates whose duty it was for the present to pass the ball around. Afterwards the candidates were divided into three squads and for the rest of the afternoon they practised the rudiments of the game. Rob took the first squad himself, the second fell to Evan and the third to a middle class fellow named Brimmer. Enthusiasm began to wane among the inexperienced long before the hour was up. This was to be expected, since passing and falling on the ball and sprinting soon grow monotonous and tiresome. But every one stuck it out until, at shortly after five, Rob let them go.
“Well, what do you think?” asked Rob when, later, the three friends were skirting the School gridiron on their way back to Holden.
“I don’t know,” said Evan doubtfully. “I don’t think there were many stars in my squad, while as for Brimmer, I thought he was going to throw up the sponge once or twice.”