“Rather lame, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Chawmed, I’m sure. Tumble in and I’ll shove her off.”
The next day the second team became an official fact. Mr. Crowley, the assistant athletic director, took charge of the coaching and the squad of nineteen started in at training table in Manning that noon. Ben Myatt was chosen captain. As usual, Hugh went over to the field after school in the afternoon and looked on. He had secretly hoped to make an end position on the second, but there were Bellows and Forbes in the coveted places, and no word had come from Hanrihan. He began to believe, with Bert, that his chances for this year were at an end.
The first was going through signal drill, Nick driving one squad and Weston the other. Behind each line-up a few sweatered substitutes followed. Neil Ayer was at quarter for the second, further down the field, and Mr. Crowley, familiarly known as “Dinny,” with a half-dozen unplaced candidates, looked on. There was just a suspicion of frost in the air today, and the fact told on the players. There was more vim in their movements as, in response to the voices of the quarter-backs, they trotted up and down with the balls. Coach Bonner and Jim Quinn, the manager, were conversing in front of the bench, and Davy Richards, the trainer, was mending a head-guard discarded by one of the players a few minutes before. Hugh wondered what Mr. Bonner would say if he broached the subject of reinstatement. At the worst he could only scowl and say no. And he might say yes! But—well, Coach Bonner wasn’t the sort of man one felt like making suggestions to! Besides, Hanrihan had told Hugh to wait.
There were few onlookers about the first team gridiron today, for the upper and lower middlers were playing the first of the class games on the further field and the crowd was over there. Hugh was debating whether to follow or to remain here in the hope of getting some word from Hanrihan when that youth came to the bench. In front of him the second team squad, players and followers, came to a breathless pause after a forward pass and Mr. Crowley, short, square, red-faced, criticized gruffly. At that moment Hugh became conscious of someone at his shoulder and heard Mr. Smiley’s deep and pleasant voice.
“What do you think of them, Ordway?” asked the Latin instructor.
“Smiles” was a fine, upstanding man well under forty, clean-shaven, tanned, gray-eyed. Although he lived in the master’s suite on the third floor of Lothrop, Hugh had never had more than a nod or a “Good morning” from him and was rather surprised that Smiles knew his name.
“They look rather fit, sir,” replied the boy.
“Yes. I hope Mr. Crowley will turn us out a good second. A lot depends on the scrubs. I understand they’ve chosen Myatt for captain. A fine fellow and a good player. Too bad he’s never made the varsity team. When he was a lower middler we all looked to see him captain this year. He lacks something, though.”
“I heard a fellow say Myatt was too good-natured, sir.”