“But, I don’t see— What’s the big idea? Where do I fit in? You and ‘Wink,’ sure, but me—”
“Oh, ‘Cocky’’ll find a use for you, Clif. Trust that old bird! Say, I’m tickled to death! Gee, why, we’ll get our letters, anyway; all three of us probably! What price me with a big blue W on my tummy?”
“Well, I don’t know, Johnny. We mightn’t. There’s a lot of fellows on that First Team squad now. I don’t see what he’s going to do with us all!”
“Feed us to Wolcott one at a time. Maybe ‘Cocky’s’ idea is to give Wolcott indigestion, eh? Anyway, I should concern myself. All I want is a chance at some of those big stiffs. That and my letter!”
Johnny strode gloriously on toward the showers and Clif mingled with the crowd that filled the locker-room. Oddly, no one took any notice of him; just as if he hadn’t been joined up with the First at all! But, he consoled himself, they probably hadn’t heard yet. He sought out Tom with his eyes and waved a brown stocking at him. Tom waved back, but it was evident that he didn’t know. His wave had been too casual. Clif chuckled and hurried his dressing. He would wait for Tom and tell him the thrilling news on the way to Hall!
CHAPTER XXIII
WYNDHAM PLAYS WOLCOTT
Friday was an unreal sort of a day to Clif. He made a miserable fizzle of three recitations and conducted himself generally as though he was sleep-walking. It was only at three-thirty that he really became conscious. Then he came out of his trance and trotted around the field at the end of a line of seven third-string players, trying to get the signals right when Braley barked them. Two other squads indulged in the same recreation; and there were several fellows left out, at that, for the Wyndham First Team now consisted of thirty-seven players. Clif’s squad was the last to quit signal drill, and after it was over he joined a dozen others and caught and threw the ball while the field gradually emptied. By five the last practice was over and the last player clumped across the running track and over the turf to the gymnasium leaving the field to darkness. Lights were already on in the gymnasium and East Hall when Clif and “Wink” left the gridiron.
That evening there was an hour of blackboard drill in the rowing room from seven-thirty to eight-thirty. Team members had been given study cuts since recitations had been abolished for Saturday. After drill Mr. Babcock brushed the chalk from his hands and spoke briefly. “I want every fellow to go from here right to his room,” said the Coach. “At any rate, keep away from that cheer meeting over there. Read or talk for a while and then get to bed. Bedtime to-night is nine-thirty for all of you. No matter if you aren’t sleepy. Get into bed and relax and try not to think about anything. That’s the best way to get to sleep that I know of.
“We’ve got a hard job ahead of us, fellows, but we’re equal to it. I tell you honestly that you’re good enough to beat Wolcott to-morrow, if you’ll do your best and fight hard. We’ve had our troubles here, as you know, but we’ve surmounted them all just as fast as they showed themselves. We’ve had to change our whole plan of battle at the last minute, but we’ve developed another plan that will answer fully as well. I don’t want one of you to acknowledge to himself the possibility of defeat. I tell you you’re going to win. But you’ve got to believe it yourselves, and you’ve got to work. Keep your thoughts right, fellows. Say to yourselves, ‘I’m going to play harder to-morrow than I ever played in my life, just as all the others are going to, and together we’re going to win!’ Half the battle is in having faith. The other half is in doing. Cultivate the will to win. Now we’ll go out quietly, with no cheering. We’ll leave the cheering until to-morrow evening.”