The coach said nothing, but to the varsity captain he whispered:
“Keep your eye on Blair. If he keeps on, he may make a player yet. He’s a little too wild, though. Don’t say anything that will give him a swelled head.”
The practice went on unrelentingly, and then the candidates were ordered back to the gymnasium on the run, to be followed by a shower and a brisk rub.
Glowing with health and vigor, and yet lame and sore from the hard tackle, Andy went to his room, to find Dunk Chamber impatiently waiting for him.
“Oh, there you are, you old mud lark!” was the greeting. “I’ve been waiting for you. Come on around to Burke’s and have some ale and a rarebit.”
“No thanks. I’m in training, you know.”
“That’s so. Been out on the field?”
“Yes. I wonder you don’t go in for that.”
“Too much like work. I might try for the crew or the nine. I’m afraid of spoiling my manly beauty by getting somebody’s boot heel in the eye. By the way, you don’t look particularly handsome. What has somebody been doing to you?”
“Nothing more than usual. It’s all in the game.”