“I never did, not very much, you see,” Ballard laughed. “We tried it over at the Gap. It went fine until Squirrel-Head Blevins called Blackie Madden a name he didn’t like. Blackie went home and got a gun. If the teacher hadn’t caught Blackie with it, Squirrel-Head wouldn’t be living now. So that’s all the football there was.”
“At the Gap?” Johnny breathed a prayer. “Did you go to high school there?”
“Yes, I—I sort of graduated there last June,” Ballard admitted modestly.
“Thank God,” Johnny breathed. Then—
“Ballard, you’re going to college. You’re going to play real, big-time football.”
“Oh no! I—I can’t,” Ballard was all but speechless. “I—I’ve got less than fifty dollars. You—you can’t go to college on that.”
“Sure you can!” Johnny’s tone was one of finality. “My granddad’s one of the trustees of Hillcrest College. He endowed a scholarship. It’s open. That will pay your tuition. You can work for your room and board. More than half the boys do that. Yes, you’re going to college. And will the coach be pleased! Ballard, old boy, you’re the answer to my prayer.”
“But Johnny,” the mountain boy’s voice hit a flat note, “I read somewhere that college freshmen are not eligible to play football.”
“That’s only in the big colleges and universities,” Johnny explained. “You’ll be eligible in Hillcrest all right.”
“And now,” Johnny said more quietly after a moment. “Now I can go fishing with a good conscience.”