“‘Football instinct,’” echoed the coach smilingly. “You’ve been reading stories, Terry. ‘There ain’t no such critter’ as football instinct. Instinct is a natural impulse. You may say that a boy has a natural impulse toward athletics and, if he happened to come of athletic parents, you’re probably right. But football hasn’t been played long enough in this country to generate instinct, if you see what I mean. Perhaps in another hundred or two hundred years boys may be born with football instinct, but not now, Terry.”
“Well, it’s something,” replied the other vaguely, “and Merrill doesn’t seem to have it.”
“Call it football sense,” said the coach. “He does as he is told and as he has been taught, but he appears to have no initiative. In other words, if he found himself during a game suddenly in a position where he had to depend on his own resources, mental and physical, he’d likely fail right there. Strange, too, that I was speaking to Mr. Howe about Merrill yesterday. Howe has him in two classes, I think. He said he’d never found a boy with a greater aptitude for learning nor one with a more retentive memory. But then perhaps that proves my contention. Merrill, I dare say, lacks imagination. Well, we’ll keep him along for another week or so and see what happens.”
Maple Hill went down the river a few miles on Saturday and played her first game of the season. Her opponent was Phoenixville High School, an aggregation not at all formidable. In fact the contest was looked upon as nothing more than a slightly glorified practice, and for that reason Coach Cotting took along two complete elevens and used every player at some time during the game. Phoenixville managed to score a touchdown as the result of a fumble by a Maple Hill substitute near the end of the last period, but the Green-and-Gray ran up twenty-eight points and was well enough satisfied. Neither Rodney nor Phineas was taken along that day. How Kitty spent his afternoon I don’t know; probably, however, in taking a little ten mile jaunt around the country; but Rodney, after declining the invitation of Tom and Pete to follow the team as a rooter, remained at home and joined Tad and the twins at tennis. Rodney had Matty for a partner, and there were two hard fought sets. For some reason Rodney’s strokes were less certain than usual and, although he played perhaps as well as Tad, the opponents won each set, the first 7–5 and the second 9–7. Matty was not up to her sister on the tennis court, and May’s better playing accounted for the double victory. They had a jolly time, however, and afterwards Tad played host at Doolittle’s and they consumed ice-cream sodas and talked over the contests. Tad insisted that playing football had injured Rodney’s tennis.
“It always does,” he said. “Your arm gets sort of stiff and set, you see. A fellow has to keep his wrist pretty supple to do good backhand work.”
Rodney agreed that possibly football was to blame. “As soon as they let me go, I’ll try you again,” he said.
“Don’t worry. They won’t let you go, Rod. Why, you’re doing finely, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not. I’m playing about as poorly as the rest of the duffers in the second squad, I suppose. I guess another week will settle me.”
At this there were lamentations from the twins. They had, it seemed, made up their minds that Rodney was to be a football star like his famous brother. “You oughtn’t to talk like that,” Matty protested earnestly. “You—you must think you’re going to do well, mustn’t he May?”
“Yes, indeed. What we think we are,” replied May gravely.