“It is good,” responded Jimmy earnestly. “Try a kick, Mart.”
So Mart, nothing loth, swung a sturdy leg, dropped the ball and watched with satisfaction its forty-five-yard flight down the field. “Kicks well,” he acknowledged while a willing youth chased the pigskin and hurled it back. “Let’s see it again, Jimmy.”
But while Jimmy was handling it a third person joined them. “What make of ball is that, Cap?” asked Mr. Cade.
“I don’t know. Jimmy here is booming it. Something he got in the village at the new store a couple of the fellows have started.”
“Proctor and Farnham,” commented the coach as he read the label. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard of it. Used out West a lot, I believe. Very sturdy looking trick, isn’t it? Feels nice, too. A good wet weather ball, I’d say. Grain’s very heavy, if you notice. Gives you a good hold.”
“It’s the best ball I ever put a foot to,” declared Jimmy impressively. “I can get a lot better distance with it than I can with the ball we’re using.”
The coach smiled. “They must be giving you a commission, Austen,” he laughed. “I’m glad, though, you like it. Only, don’t get so used to it that you won’t be able to kick one of our sort. How you getting on, by the way?”
“Oh, pretty fair,” replied Jimmy modestly. “I guess I’m sort of getting the hang of it. Neirsinger and I put in a couple of hours this morning.”
“That’s fine,” said the coach. “Well, let’s get started, Captain Proctor.”
So Jimmy deposited his ball with Jake the trainer, with instructions to guard it with his life, and departed to the field where for the succeeding thirty minutes he trotted about behind Appel in signal drill. The second team proved far less formidable that afternoon and the first walked through its line three times for touchdowns and ran rings around it meanwhile. Rumor had it that Steve Gaston, second team coach, expressed dissatisfaction very strongly to his charges after the day’s work was over. Certain it is that on Wednesday there were several changes in the scrubs’ line-up, changes which resulted in a smaller total of points for the first team, but which did not entirely satisfy the big coach. Gaston had spent two seasons as a second team player, for some not quite explicable reason never reaching the first. Perhaps this was because he knew football just a little better than he could play it. Last season an injury to his leg had laid him off a few days before the end, an injury which seemed at the time inconsequential enough but which had afterwards proved so serious as to bar him from football for two years at least. Had it not been for that injury Gaston would have been this year’s second team captain. As it was, a wise Athletic Committee proffered him the position of coach, and Steve, bitterly resenting the fate which had deprived him of the fierce joys of the game, could have wept with delight. Of course he did nothing of the kind. All he did do was accept with a contained air and earnestly promise to show the committee and the School the best scrub eleven of recent years.