“Cotting likes to catch them young. Stacey began in his first year, and now look at him.”
“Where?” asked Rodney.
“I mean look where he is on the team. Only a Third Form fellow and first string quarterback!”
“Do you mean Stacey Trowbridge?” asked Rodney in surprise.
“Of course. The chap I room with. Why not?”
“Why—why, no reason at all, except—why, somehow he seems so—so sort of quiet and——”
“Oh, he doesn’t talk much, but he can think like—like a judge! Jack says we have a well balanced room; says all the talking’s done on one side and all the thinking on the other!” Tad laughed. “But Stacey is a wonder at football. You wait till you see him drive the team some day. I guess it’s just because he doesn’t talk much that fellows listen when he does.” Tad was silent a brief moment. Then, “Guess I’ll try that myself,” he added thoughtfully.
The candidates, who had gathered around the coach, were now dispersing in squads to different parts of the field. In all there seemed fully sixty of them, and Rodney expressed his surprise.
“Oh, most of them don’t last long,” replied Tad carelessly. “After three or four days Cotting will make a cut, and then a lot of them will retire to private life. Finally he gets down to about thirty-two or three. Then he divides that bunch into two teams, a first and a second. Watch Tyson punt. He’s got the ball now. He’s a daisy at it. Look at that! The chap running to catch it is Wynant. He didn’t get it though. Gordon cut in on him.”
“Does Billings play?” asked Rodney.