just been waited on humbly by the first team captain and invited to
join the eleven I'd--I'd make a--a noise!"

"What do you think you've been doing?" laughed Don. "You'll have Horace
in here in a minute. Steve says you're to coach me on the signals."

"Tomorrow!" Tim waved his hand. "Time enough for that, Don. Just now it
behooves us to celebrate."

"How?" asked Don.

Tim thought long and earnestly. Finally, "Let's borrow Larry Jones's
accordion and serenade Josh!" he said.

"Let's not. And let's not go to a fire, either! Think of something
better, Timmy."

"Then we'll go out and bay at the moon. I've got to do something! By the
time Joe's got his busted rib mended you'll have that left guard
position nailed to the planks, Don."

"How about Walton?" asked Don dubiously.

"A fig for Walton! Two figs for him! A whole box of figs! All you've got
to do is speed up a bit and----"

"Suppose I can't?"

"Suppose nothing! You've _got_ to! If you don't you'll have me to fight,
Donald. If you don't cinch that position in just one week I--I'll take
you over my knee and spank you with a belt! Come on over to Clint's
room. Let us disseminate the glorious tidings. Let us----"

"I'd rather learn the signals," said Don. "There's only tonight and
tomorrow, you know."

Tim appealed despairingly to the ceiling with wide-spread hands.
"There's no poetry in his soul," he mourned, "no blood in his veins!" He
faced Don scornfully. "Donald P. Gilbert is your name, my son, and the P
stands for Practical. All right, then, draw up a chair and let's have it
over. To think, though, that I should have to sit indoors a night like
this and teach signals to a wooden-head! I wooden do it for anyone else.
Ha! How's that! Get a pad and a pencil and try to look intelligent."

"All right? Mark 'em down, then. Starting at the left, number your holes
1, 3, 5, 7, 8, 6, 4, 2. Got that? Number your left end 1, the next man
3, the next 5. Omit centre. Right guard 6, right tackle 4, right end 2.
Now, your backfield. Quarter 0, left half 7, right half 8, full-back 9."

"Gee, that's hard to remember," murmured Don.

"And hard to guess," answered Tim. "Now, your first number, unless it's
under thirty, is a fake. If it's under thirty it means that the next
number is the number of a play. Over thirty, it means nothing. Your
second digit of your second number is your runner. The second digit of
the third number is the hole. The fourth number, as you do