They talked over the afternoon’s events then. “You put up a corking game, Rus,” declared the visitor. “I was watching you and Butler, and I’ll say that Butler had nothing on you, son. Say, you’re playing lots better football than you did last year, aren’t you?”
Russell reflected. “Yes, I think I am,” he answered. “Steve Gaston’s a crackajack coach, Jimmy. He has a way of showing you how to do things that—oh, I don’t know, but he just says a couple of words and makes a motion and—and you get him! Yes, I really do think I’ve improved. Fact is, last year there didn’t seem to be any great whatyoucallit—incentive to do very much. You know that yourself. We just went over and let the first team whale us five days a week and that’s all there was to it. This year it’s lots different. We—”
“I’ll say so! This year you just go over and whale the first! Well, I’ll acknowledge that you guys have quite a team there. I’ll hand it to you. Also to Steve. He’s a regular, raging, rampageous tiger these days. Seems as if he’d like to get us all laid up in the hospital and then die happy.”
“Steve says the harder we use you fellows the harder you’ll use Kenly,” said Russell, grinning.
“Yes, and we’re going to use you fellows hard before we get to Kenly,” answered Jimmy warmly. “Believe me, Rus, there’s some kick in the old team yet, and in a day or two more you guys will be sorry you took advantage of our enfeebled condition—”
“Well, who enfeebled you?” laughed Russell. “It was the little old second that put the skids under you.”
“Nothing of the sort,” answered Jimmy indignantly. “Look at the hospital list we had!”
“You didn’t have any hospital list until we gave you one!”
“Say, you fellows hate yourselves,” said Jimmy wearily. “Anyway, you’re due for an awful shock pretty quick!”
“Sooner the better,” replied the other, cheerfully. “Then we’ll know that all our toil hasn’t been in vain. I don’t mind saying that teaching football to you mutts is pretty hard work, and I’ll be glad when it’s over.” Russell felt tenderly of his nose.