“Eh? Oh, that’s right! Well, ‘Five, twelve, fourteen, then. What I mean is, that while I’m getting the first number you call the third and then the ball is snapped and I haven’t found out where I’m going with it!”
Dick laughed. “Can’t think quick enough, eh? You’ll have practice on that then. Look here, Davis, who told you you were made for a back?”
“No one, but you see I sort of wanted to play there. You don’t think I can?”
“Oh, I don’t want to say that,” answered Dick kindly, “but I do think you’d do better work in the line. Seems to me you’d fit in pretty well at guard.”
“I guess I’m too short,” said Davis sadly. Then, brightening: “But I wouldn’t have to remember so many figures, would I?” he asked.
“Well, anyway, you’d have another second or so to think about them,” chuckled Dick. “Why don’t you tell the coach you’d like to try playing guard? You are a bit short, but you’ve got weight and you look husky. How old are you? Sixteen?”
“Seventeen. I don’t look it, do I? Say, I suppose you wouldn’t want to speak to Mr. Driscoll, would you?”
“Me? It wouldn’t do any good, my speaking to him, Davis. I’m just one of the dubs like the rest of you.”
Davis appeared to doubt that. “I thought—Well, you won’t be long. Anyone can see that you know the game. Maybe I’d better ask Bob Peters, though. I’m sort of scared of Mr. Driscoll.”