“Why, saw that he had the making of a good player and—and trained him. Taught him all he knew, they say.”
“Rot!” said Rodney. “Stanley knew football before he ever saw Maple Hill!”
“Well, I don’t know. That’s what I heard.” Tad swung around suddenly and stared at his companion. “Look here, how the dickens do you know so much about Ginger Merrill?” he demanded in surprise.
“Why—you told me about him, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t tell you his name was Stanley, I’d forgotten it, they always call him Ginger; I didn’t tell you he knew football when he came here.”
“Didn’t you? I suppose—I’ve heard lots of fellows speak of him. What’s Cotton doing?”
“His name is Cotting,” answered Tad, still eyeing Rodney speculatively. Finally, when the other had refused to meet his glance, he turned to look at the coach. “He’s taking the fellow’s names. A lot of them are new boys. Why don’t you have a try, Rod?”
“No good. Besides I’m a bit young yet for the team.”