“But I’m not a second-string fellow,” demurred Dick.
“N-no, but I think he means to give all his backs a whack at it this afternoon. If you do get in, old man, just keep your head steady. Don’t let anything or anyone rattle you. If you look out for that you’ll make good, I guess. Another thing, Bates. Don’t be afraid of hustling the team. A team likes to work fast. It’s the waits between plays that raise the dickens sometimes. Keep us going. And talk it up a lot. That helps, even if it does sound crazy on the side-lines. Scold, too, but don’t nag. Stone nags too much. And Cardin doesn’t whoop it up enough. I tell you, Bates, a fellow likes to feel that his quarter is right on the job, that he isn’t missing a trick and that he’s standing by every minute. I don’t know if I make myself quite clear. But, for instance, when I’m playing I like to feel that all I’ve got to do is mind the quarter, that he knows what he’s doing. I want to have implicit confidence in my quarter. Then I can play ball. If I don’t have confidence I can’t. I get to thinking: What’s he mean by that? That isn’t the play for the down. Suppose he’s mixed on his signals: Is the ball going to be there when I’m ready? And I lose confidence in my own ability to make the play good.
“Last year we had Patterson. He was a wonder, my idea of just what a quarter should be. If it was fourth down on the other fellow’s one-yard and Billy called for a punt we’d have thought it all right. Not one of us would have questioned. He didn’t make mistakes and we knew it. I say he didn’t make mistakes, but of course he did once in a while. He was only human, you know. He pulled an awful ‘boner’ in the Chancellor game. He had called the ‘big shift’ and then he sent K around the wrong end and we lost about six yards; and a touchdown, too, as it proved, for we couldn’t make the distance afterwards. Of course we were pretty sore and we’d have said some hard things just then to anyone but Billy. You might expect a quarter after doing a stunt like that to be all broke-up, but when I got on my feet again Billy was laughing for all he was worth. ‘That’s the worst one I ever pulled,’ said he. ‘I guess the old bean’s slipping, fellows!’ So, in about one second we were all laughing, too, and calling it a joke. But Billy’s old bean didn’t slip very often, I’m telling you.”
“Did you win that game, Warden?” asked Dick.
“Oh, sure! We got over the next try all right. I forget the score. Something like three scores to one, I think. But if Billy had got sore we’d have all been sore, and being sore doesn’t help much. Unless you’re sore against the other team. A quarter wants to be a regular double-dyed optimist, Bates, and he wants to let everyone know it, for the rest of the team will take their cue from him. Just let them think that he’s discouraged and they’ll feel the same way, and as soon as they do they’ll quit trying their hardest. They won’t mean to, mind you, but they will. There’s a lot of psychology in a football game, old man.”
“Yes, I think that’s so,” agreed Dick. “Where I’ve played, back home, though, it’s always been the captain that’s run things, Warden.”
“Bad business. A captain shouldn’t butt in on the running of the team unless it’s absolutely imperative. He has a position to play and he ought to give his whole mind to playing it. You watch Bob. You’ll almost never see him question a signal or even suggest a play. You can’t have two bosses, Bates, and a quarter-back is in position to see what’s going on and to dope out the answer. Sometimes Bob will guess what the other fellow is up to and let us know, and he’s usually right, too, but that’s about all he does except play his position. Off the field he’s the Big Boss, but on it he’s taking his orders from the quarter just like the rest of us. I’m doing a lot of talking, but I’ve got rather strong convictions as to the proper playing of the quarter-back position, Bates, and I thought I’d hand them on. Even if you don’t like ’em there’s no harm done.”
“I’m glad you have, Warden,” said Dick earnestly. “I’d never thought much about the—what you call the psychology of the thing. But I see that you’re right. And I’ll keep it in mind—if I ever get a chance!”
“Oh, your chance will come before the season’s over. Mr. Driscoll isn’t keeping you on the squad just to look at. Bates, I’ve seen a whole team pretty nearly turned upside down between the first game and the last, seen fellows who supposedly never had a chance come out of the big game covered with medals. You never can tell! Well, next stop’s ours, I think. I’m as hungry as a bear. I hope they give us a good feed at the hotel. Two years ago we nearly starved.”
Phillipsburg didn’t impress Dick very favourably at the first glance for the sunlight of a gorgeous October day was almost obscured by a pall of smoke from the many factories along the railway. But later, when they had left the station behind and were trudging up the hill toward the centre of the city, the smoke disappeared and Phillipsburg turned out to be rather attractive. The hotel was one of those old-fashioned hostelries set close to the street, with a broad verandah running along the front on which gentlemen of leisure sat tilted back in their chairs and watched life go by. To the loungers the arrival of thirty-odd guests in one bunch was a refreshingly momentous event, doubtless affording them more real excitement than they had experienced since the last collision or runaway. Quite a number of them abandoned their ease and comfort and followed the end of the procession into the lobby to satisfy their curiosity.