“All right, Davis, go to it. Neither of them will bite you, I guess. Were you here last year?”
Davis nodded. “And the year before. I’m in the Third.”
“Oh, are you? Well, how does Mr. Driscoll stand with the fellows?”
“Stand with them? Oh, ace-high, Bates,” answered the other earnestly. “He’s a corker! Don’t you like him?”
“I don’t know him, but it seems to me he’s sort of old for the job. And he doesn’t seem to——” Dick stopped. “Oh, I don’t know, but he acts a bit stand-offish, and football seems so much of a business here! I guess I can’t explain just what I mean.”
Evidently he hadn’t, for Davis looked blank. “He isn’t though,” he affirmed. “Stand-offish I mean. I like him immensely. Most everyone does. And he can turn out good teams, Bates.”
“Well, that’s the main thing. I wonder if we have punting practice after the scrimmage. Who is the skinny chap that was in charge of the punters Friday?”
“Gaines. He’s playing on the further squad there. See him? At right half: the fellow with the new head-gear. He’s pretty good, too. He played right half last year. I’m no use at punting. Guess my leg’s too short.”
“That can’t be my trouble,” laughed Dick.
“Oh, you! I thought you were mighty good at it,” said Davis approvingly. “I wish I could do half as well as you did.”