“Then it’s Mr. Cochran, of the Y.M.C.A.”
“Get out!” said Morris. “He wouldn’t leave a job like the one he’s got to coach us.”
“He could do it without giving up his job, couldn’t he? Isn’t it Cochran, George?”
“It is—not.”
“Then who——”
“I told you I couldn’t tell you, didn’t I? So don’t ask. You’ll know this afternoon—or to-morrow.”
“I’ll bet he’s a frost, whoever he is,” Morris Brent grumbled.
“Who found him? Lanny?”
“Er—no, not exactly.” George Cotner smiled. “I don’t know who found him, exactly, although I think I was the first one to suggest him. Oh, you’ll be surprised all right, fellows!” He chuckled at the bewildered expressions on the faces of the others. “I’ll tell you one thing, though, just to keep you interested; he’s never played a game of football in his life!”