“Yes?” encouraged McNatt.
“Why, only that, not being willing to help the School out by going back to the team, you didn’t—didn’t care very much!”
McNatt smiled gently. “I’m afraid you’re rather like Myers,” he chided. “You can only see what’s directly in front of your eyes. Myers couldn’t understand that I might find other things more important than football. I explained that my scientific pursuits meant more to me than playing full-back on the eleven.”
“Then I’m not like Joe,” responded Willard, smiling, “for I can understand it. I suppose what does puzzle me, McNatt, is your not being willing to apply your science to the bettering of the game and the defeat of the enemy. Seems to me you’ve got a big chance to demonstrate your theories and to help the School at the same time.”
McNatt looked surprised. “But I’ve explained that they won’t listen!” he said.
“Don’t ask them to listen,” replied Willard smilingly, yet very earnestly. “Show them!”
“Show them? You mean—”
“Exactly! [Go out and play full-back as it should be played.] Scientifically. According to your ideas. Prove there’s something in it, McNatt. Afterwards you can talk and they’ll listen.”
McNatt drew his hands from his trousers pockets and rubbed them thoughtfully together. “I wonder if it could be done,” he muttered. “You see, Harmon, it isn’t the playing of one position that counts, but the conduct of the whole game, the—the modus operandi. And yet—” He relapsed into silence again.