amused at this strange
exhibition of willingness.

"Yes, sir."

"Good spirit; keep it up. Get right out for your House team----"

"I won't!" said Stover, blurting it out in his anger and then
flushing: "I mean, give me a chance, won't you, sir?"

Cockrell, who had turned, stopped and came back.

"What makes you think you can play?" he said not unkindly.

"I've got to," said Stover desperately.

"But you don't know the game."

"Please, sir, I'm not out for the 'Varsity," said Stover confusedly.
"I mean, I want to be in it, to work for the school, sir."

"You're not a Freshman?" said the captain, and the accents of his
voice were friendly.

"No, sir."

"What's your name?" said Cockrell, a little thrilled to feel the
genuine veneration that inspired the "sir."

"Stover--Dink Stover."

"You were down at the Green last year, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir," said Stover, looking down with a sinking feeling.

"You're the fellow who tried to fight the whole House?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, Dink, this is a little different--you can't play football on
nothing but nerve."

"You can if you've got enough of it," said Stover, all in a breath.
"Please, sir, give me a chance. You can fire me if I'm no good. I only
want to be useful. You've got to have a lot of fellows to stand the
banging and you can bang me around all day. I do know something about
it, sir; I've practiced tackling and falling on the ball all summer,
and I'm hard as nails. Just give me a chance, will you? Just one
chance, sir."

Cockrell looked at Mr. Ware, whose eye showed the battling spark as he
nodded.

"Here, Dink," he said gruffly, "I can't be wasting any more time over
you. I told you to go back to the House team, didn't I?"

Stover, with a lump in his throat, nodded the answer he could not
utter.

"Well, I've changed my mind. Get over there in the squad."

The revulsion of feeling was so sudden that tears came into Stover's
eyes.

"You're really going to let me stay?"

"Get over there, you little nuisance!"

Dink went a few steps, and then stopped and tightened his shoelaces a
long minute.

"Too bad the little devil is so light," said Cockrell to Mr. Ware.

"Best player I ever played against had no right on a football field."

"But one hundred and thirty-five!"

"Yes, that's pretty light."

"What the deuce were you chinning so long about?" said Cheyenne Baxter
to Dink, as he came joyfully into the squad.

"Captain wanted just