captain came into sight,
surrounded by a score of lads seeking to curry favor.

"And there's Jackson, the coach," added Tom. "He's got a suit on.
Guess he'll go in for practice."

The field soon became a scene of activity. From one side two lads
strolled from under the grandstand where some of the dressing rooms
were, and advanced toward the coach and captain.

"There are Heller and Johnson," said Bert in a low voice. "They're
going to have a try, too."

"Did you hear where Sam wants to play?" asked Tom.

"No," answered his chums.

"Come on now, boys, line up!" called the captain. "We'll play a scrub
game. Hecker, Miller, Jones, Reilley, you'll be on the scrub for a
while," and Morse called on other names to make an eleven.

"Regular team over here!" went on the young captain--"that is what's
left of 'em. Tom Fairfield, you'll be left half, I guess. Bert, get
in at guard, though I may change you later. Jack, you'll do at tackle,
I think."

"Where am I to play?" asked Sam Heller as though it was all
settled--that is all but naming his position. "I'd like to go in at
quarterback."

Morse looked at him. So did the coach, and the latter nodded at the
captain.

"Very well, Heller. Try it at quarter," assented Morse, "though I
can't promise to always play you there in matches. Now then line up.
Tom will take the ball for a try through the scrub. Be careful in
passing it, Heller."

There was rather a gasp of astonishment from the other players and some
of the spectators as the two enemies were thus brought into the
limelight. As for Tom, he felt a sinking at his heart, for he realized
that Sam had it in his power to make or mar his play by the manner in
which he passed the ball.

"But they shan't say it was my fault!" said Tom grimly to himself.
"I'll play a straight game, and if Heller wants to do any crooked
work--well, let him, that's all!"

CHAPTER VII

A CROSS-COUNTRY RUN

"Line up! Line up!"

It was the call of the coach and captain to the improvised regular
eleven and the scrub. Twenty-two rather nervous lads faced each
other--no, not all of the twenty-two were nervous, for there were some
veterans--warriors of past battles--who were as cool as the proverbial
cucumber. But the new lads--those who hoped to make the first
eleven--were undoubtedly nervous. And so, too, were some of those who
had played before, for they had not yet found themselves this season,
and they did n