“Isn’t it—isn’t it getting rather late?” asked Lanny blandly.
“He’s hinting for refreshments,” said Louise scornfully. “I believe he only comes to the meetings for that. Anyway, he won’t like the lemonade because it isn’t hot.”
“The weather has moderated so much since I made that unlucky remark that cold lemonade is quite satisfactory,” answered Lanny. “And I do hope you have some more of that cake with the underdone frosting. It lasted me all the way home Monday night, Louise. I even found some on my shoes in the morning!”
“You’re horribly insulting,” his hostess laughed. “I made that cake myself, Lanny, and you ought to have raved about it!”
“I did—when I found it on my shoes,” drawled Lanny.
CHAPTER X
FOOTBALL PROBLEMS
The next day Dick appointed three assistant coaches. Bert Cable was to coach the linemen, Lanny the backs and Morris the kickers. Dick took the ends under his immediate charge. There were now five candidates for the end positions: Harry Bryan, Guy Felker, Jack Toll, Jim Grover and Gordon Merrick. Dick had very distinct ideas on the subject of end play and was fortunately able to convey them understandingly to the candidates. Gordon did not at once take kindly to the new position nor show any great aptitude for the duties involved. Except that he was quick and fast on his feet, was physically well built for an end and had a lot of sound sense, he was doubtless no more promising than half a dozen others whom Dick might have selected for the training. But Dick’s theory that it was easier to make an intelligent fellow into a football player than to make a football player intelligent continued to guide his plans, and already he was succeeding in vindicating that theory.
Among the boys who had responded to the later call for candidates was a fifteen-year-old sophomore named Perry Hull. Perry had never tried for the team before and knew about as little football as it was possible to know and live in a community where it was played every Fall. But he was a bright-looking, quick-acting chap, with steady dark eyes and a firm mouth and chin, and he wasn’t afraid of either hard knocks or hard work. When he reported he expressed complete indifference as to where he played, therein being much unlike the general run of candidates, most of whom demanded to be made into backs or ends. They told a story on Fudge Shaw which may not have been quite truthful, but in any case illustrates the point. Fudge, so the story went, reported for football in his sophomore year and, on being asked by Coach Farrell what position he was after, replied, “Oh, captain or quarterback, I guess!”
Dick liked Perry Hull’s looks at once and watched him carefully for a week. His lack of size was against him as a lineman and, in fact, left few positions open to him. He might have developed into a satisfactory substitute end had not Dick been quietly looking for a quarterback with more powers of initiative than Orson Kirke showed. Kirke was a good handler of the ball, was rather clever at gaining in a broken field and could follow directions implicitly. But, left to himself, he never knew what to do and was liable to make the most stupid blunders in the matter of choosing plays. He had been third-string quarter the year before and had been used only when both Putnam, the regular quarter, and Cottrell, the first substitute, were unable to play. Dick didn’t fancy Kirke as the sole proxy in the Springdale game and seized on Perry Hull eagerly as soon as he had sized up that youth. Hull was placed in the hands of Chester Cottrell for development and inside of a few days had proved Dick’s acumen. Already, on the eve of the Logan contest, Hull was the logical candidate for first substitute quarterback, and Orson Kirke, who had theretofore looked on himself as certain incumbent of that position, was ruefully doing his best to outpace the usurper. Just now Kirke might be said to be still a full lap behind.