d a chance
to play on a regular team I used to mix it up at school, but I was
stronger than most of the boys. There were one or two accidents. They
thought I'd better quit."

Bailly laughed.

"That's the kind of material we want. You do look as if you could bruise
a blue or a crimson jersey. Know where the field house is? Ask anybody.
Do no harm for the trainer to look you over. Be there at three o'clock."

"But my work? Will you help me?"

"Give me," Bailly pled, "until afternoon to decide if I'll take another
ten years from my life. That's all. Send that fellow Rogers in. Be at
the field house at three o'clock."

And as George passed out he heard him reviling the candidate.

"Don't see why you come to college. No chance to make the team or a Phi
Beta Kappa. One ought to be a requisite."

The shrill voice went lower. George barely caught the words certainly
not intended for him.

"You know I wouldn't be a bit surprised if that fellow you brought me,
if he had a chance, might do both."

II

George, since he had nothing else to do, walked home. Bailly could get
him in if he would. Did it really depend in part on the inspection he
would have to undergo that afternoon? It was hard there was nothing he
could do to prepare himself. He went to the yard, to which the landlady
had condemned Sylvia's bulldog, and, to kill time, played with the
friendly animal until luncheon. Afterward he sat in his room before
Sylvia's portrait impressing on himself the necessity of strength for
the coming ordeal.

His landlady directed him glibly enough to the field house. As he
crossed the practice gridiron, not yet chalked out, he saw Bailly on the
verandah; and, appearing very small and sturdy beside him, a
gray-haired, pleasant-faced man whose small eyes were relentless.

"This is the prospect, Green," George heard Bailly say.

The trainer studied George for some time before he nodded his head.

"A build to hurt and not get hurt," he said at last; "but, Mr. Bailly,
it's hard to supply experience. Boys come here who have played all their
lives, and they know less than nothing. Bone seems to grow naturally in
the football cranium."

He shifted back to George.

"How fast are you?"

"I've never timed myself, but I'm hard to catch."

"Get out there," the trainer directed.

"In those clothes?" Bailly asked.

"Why not? The ground's dry. A man wouldn't run any faster with moleskins
and cleats. Now you run as far as th