“I don’t think I can play so well at left tackle, sir,” he replied, meeting the coach’s eyes with magnificent assurance. Mr. Cade smiled very slightly and moved past. But he turned his face again toward Leonard an instant later.
“I’ll take you up on that, Grant,” he said sharply.
Leonard felt uncomfortable. He wasn’t quite certain what Johnny had meant. Besides, there had been something—well, not exactly unfriendly, but sort of—sort of rasping in his tone; as if Johnny had thought to himself, “Get sassy with me, will you. I’ll show you!” Leonard wished now he had kept his mouth shut. Some of the fellows who had taken part in the first period of scrimmaging were making their way back to the showers, but as no one dismissed him Leonard sat still and got his breath back and wondered what awaited him. Then Tod Tenney called “Time up, Coach!” and Johnny Cade swung around and pulled out his little book and sent them back on the field again.
“B Team,” he called. “Gurley and Kerrison, ends; Wilde and Grant, tackles; Squibbs and—”
But Leonard didn’t hear any more. He was shedding his blanket and telling himself fiercely that he just had to make good now. The fierceness remained throughout the subsequent twenty-one minutes required to play ten minutes of football. At the first line-up Billy Wells smiled joyfully at Leonard. “See who’s here,” he called gayly, swinging his big arms formidably. “Who let you in, sonny? Some one sure left the gate open! Which way are you coming?”
“Inside,” answered Leonard grimly.
“Welcome to our midst, sweet youth!”
Of course Leonard didn’t go inside. In the first place, the play was around the right end, and in the next place Billy wouldn’t have stood for it. Leonard busied himself with Renneker, got slammed back where he belonged and then plunged through the melting lines and chased after the play. Rus Emerson slapped him on the back as they passed on their way to the next line-up.
“Glad to see you, Grant,” declared the captain.
On the next play Leonard and Billy mixed it up thoroughly, but truth compels the admission that of the two Leonard was the most mixed! You just couldn’t get under Billy. If you played low, Billy played lower. If you feinted to your right, Billy moved to his right, too. If you tried to double-cross him and charged the way you feinted he outguessed you and was waiting. He knew more ways of using his shoulder than there were letters in the alphabet, and his locked hands coming up under your chin were most effective. No cat was half as quick as Billy and no bull-dog half as stubborn and tenacious. Yet Leonard did have his infrequent triumphs. Once, when Reilly wanted three yards to make the distance, Leonard put Billy Wells out completely and Red slid by for a yard more than needed. Leonard had got the jump that time by a fraction of a second, and he was so proud of his feat that doubtless it showed on his face, for Billy viewed him sarcastically for a moment and then announced: “Just bull-luck, you poor half portion of prunes!”