"I reckon so," murmured Clint. "I'm willing, anyway, sir."
"You're not over-enthusiastic," laughed the coach, "but maybe that's just as well. All right, you see what you can do. Get out there now with the second squad. Try to show me that I made a good selection, Thayer. And, by the way, I wish you'd drop around and see me this evening after study. Can you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I'll look for you, then. And bring that friend of yours along, if he wants to come."
"Byrd?"
"Yes, that's his name, isn't it? Tell him I'll be honoured if he will pardon the informality of the invitation and give me the pleasure of his society from nine to ten. That's his style, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir." Clint smiled. "I think he will be very glad to come, sir."
"All right. Now get in there, Thayer, and set your mind on it. Show what you can do. I expect you to make mistakes, boy; we can correct those; but if I think for a moment that you're not trying--Well, we can't waste time on you in that case, Thayer."
Clint reported to Carmine, who was personally conducting the substitutes around the field. "Hello!" he greeted. "Tackle, you say? All right. Follow along for awhile, will you? Now then, fellows, get this right! Gafferty over! 36--41--17--8! 36--41--17--"
Clint tried to pick up the signals, but it was a hopeless task, and it was not until Mr. Robey detailed one of the substitutes to teach him the 'varsity code that he was able to take part in proceedings. He went in at right tackle for one of the two fifteen-minute periods and, considering that he was still unfamiliar with the shifts and signals, did very well. No one told him so, to be sure, but he knew without being told, and emerged from the afternoon's practice thinking that perhaps, after all, playing on the 'varsity was not such a difficult thing as he had imagined it. But Clint's troubles hadn't begun yet.