“What they need,” snarled Duffield, “is a stick of dynamite under ’em. Four-thirty, you said?”
“Yes, sir. Devens wants to wait until Hop and Prentiss get out of the way. He says the Second is crazy to play us.”
“H’m; well, look out they don’t use you up. Remember we’ve got a real game the day after to-morrow. Better get busy now and run through signals for ten minutes or so.”
A few minutes later Malcolm called the coach’s attention to the group of fellows assembling in front of Academy. “The First is getting ready to start, sir.” Duffield followed the other’s gaze and smiled cynically.
“They’re not going to walk all the way to the village, are they?” he asked.
“Why, yes, sir, it’s only a mile and a quarter by the fields.”
“But in their condition!” said Duffield in simulated alarm. “They’ll drop by the wayside, Warne! They ought to be trundled down in baby-carriages!”
Warne smiled at the thought of Merrill and Topham and the other big linesmen reclining in perambulators, and looked to find a reflection of his amusement in the coach’s face, but Duffield had dived into the mass of boys ahead of him and was already busy shuffling them back into their positions.
“Now try that again and do it right,” he commanded sharply. “These aren’t parlor tricks I’m teaching you. Get into it as though you meant it. Get back, Langton, you’re too near the line. The other half has to run in ahead of you, so give him room. Now, then, Kingsford, same play! That’s better. Jell, you’ve got to double up better than that. Get your head down so you can see just where the ball is going to when you pass it. Try the left shift, Kingsford.”
The First Team and substitutes, some eighteen in all, moved across the Yard and down the meadow slope toward the village, and five minutes later the Second Team began to trickle out of the gymnasium. They had a few minutes’ practice on the School gridiron and then Gus Devens walked across in search of Rob. The latter saw him coming and called a halt, and Duffield sent the first squad to the side-lines.