reat was his dry land
operations. But, oh boy, didn't he get _soaked_ at _Waterloo_! Of
course that's a rather far-fetched illustration. Just the same, you've
got to know how to handle yourself under all conditions or you're
practically sunk before you start!"

I agreed with "Rus" not feeling equal to stacking my brain up against
his, and besides he has a way of making things sound darn logical.
Seeing as how the coach seemed to be overlooking a good bet, "Rus"
decides that he's going to get the training he should have anyway. So
we meet one night after football practice in his backyard.

"This is what I'd call a laboratory experiment," explains "Rus" as he
soaks down the back lawn with the garden hose, "The other boys would
probably give us the merry ha ha if they saw what we're going to do but
if my theory's right we'll see the day when we can laugh up our own
sleeves!"

When the lawn's nice and oozy and slippery from super-saturation, "Rus"
turns the water on the football and gets it just as wet as though it
had fallen in a lake.

"All right, Mark," he says to me, "I'll hit the dirt first. This kind
of practice isn't exactly going to be pleasant but it has a good chance
of proving profitable. Now you stand over there and roll that football
across the grass. I'm going to try to fall on it!"

It's easy enough for me to do what "Rus" directs. But it's not so easy
for "Rus" to do what he intends. We're dressed in our football togs,
of course, right down to the cleated shoes. But even at that the grass
is so sleek that the footing's as treacherous as a polished ball room
floor. On his first try, "Rus" slips and falls flat before he gets to
the ball and the pigskin rolls to the fence.

"There went the chance to save the game!" he points out as he gets to
his feet. "Let's try her again!"

Honest, you never saw anybody that's such a glutton for punishment!
"Rus" gets sopping wet and all grass-stained and dog-tired but he keeps
me throwing that football in all sorts of zig-zag bounces across the
lawn till it's so dark that the street lights come on. And then he
apologizes for not having traded off with me so's I could have got some
of the same experience. "I'm just as well satisfied," I answers. "You
don't need to feel bad about that!"

"We'll do it again, every chance we get," says "Rus," not seeming to
notice my lack of enthusiasm, "I'm rotten! I missed at least half my
dives. And as for scooping