“Harmon, you’ve showed a pretty fair knack of getting away outside tackles,” said Mr. Cade. “Do you think you could manage to do it if you went in there now?”
Willard was conscious of the players on either side of the coach, could feel their slightly amused glances on him and knew they were waiting intently for his answer. He felt supremely awkward and embarrassed at that moment. But he had to say something, for Mr. Cade, although he was watching the players assembling again, was awaiting a reply.
“I’ll try, sir,” he managed.
Mr. Cade nodded. “Won’t promise, eh?” He looked up then into Willard’s face, and the boy was vastly relieved to see that his eyes were twinkling. “All right, go ahead,” said the coach. “Your right end looms the easiest, Harmon. If you can get that left end of theirs to play wide for a forward-pass you ought to be able to get started. Do your best, boy,” Mr. Cade nodded again, smilingly.
“Left half, sir?” asked Willard, through the folds of his sweater, which simply wouldn’t come off.
“Left half,” responded the coach.
[CHAPTER XIII]
A FORTY-YARD RUN
Mawson yielded position and head-guard unwillingly. He even sneered a little, but Willard was far too excited to see it. He took his position two yards away from Cochran, eyeing that youth’s dirt-streaked countenance with speculative interest as he did so, and awaited Hutch’s signals. Slightly behind him, Browne was breathing stertorously, a cut at one corner of his mouth lending him a particularly ferocious look.