The School Team came home that evening with its third victory, having managed to win from Bannard with a score of 6 to 0. But the victory had cost something, for Tom Reid, left tackle and one of the strongest units of the line, had broken his collar-bone and would be out of the game for two weeks at least.
On Monday, which fell very close to the middle of October, Walter Duffield made his appearance at Riverport. Those who had expected a large, stern-visaged individual were disappointed, for the former Brown tackle was not over five feet nine inches in height and weighed under a hundred and sixty. He was twenty-three years old, but didn’t look it. He had a smiling, alert face, curly brown hair, a pair of quiet brown eyes and a somewhat thin voice. He began proceedings by giving the candidates a talk on the grandstand, away from any possible eavesdropping on the part of the Regulars, as the Independents had grown to call the members of the First and Second Teams.
[“Now then, you fellows,” said Duffield, “I’m here to show you what I know about foot-ball and you’re here to learn.] That means that I say and you do. Any one who doesn’t like that wants to run along right now. I’m going to be It around here for the next month or so. You all understand that? All right. Now then, find your squads and let me see you handle the ball. Here, you fat boy, whatever your name is—What is it, by the way?”
“Jell.”
“Well, Jell, you want to move faster than that or you’ll go to sleep. Let’s see you run. That’s it! We’ll make a sprinter of you yet. Where’s your manager, Langton? How are you, Warne? Glad to know you. You stick with me this afternoon, please. I’ll want to ask a lot of questions probably. Is that your Varsity Team over there?”
“Yes, School Team we call it, sir.”
“What’s the matter with them? Are they walking in their sleep? My, but I’d like to be that quarter for a minute! All right. Now let’s have a look at our own collection of wonders.”