Part 7 (2/2)

”Oh, go to thunder!” muttered Neil, following him into the building.

He found Mills being introduced by Devoe to such of the new candidates as were on hand.

”You remember Cowan, I guess,” Devoe was saying. ”He played right-guard last year.” Mills and Cowan shook hands. ”And this is Fletcher, a new man,” continued the captain, ”and Gale, too; they're both Hillton fellows and played at half. It was Fletcher that made that fine run in the St. Eustace game. Gale was the captain last year.”

Mills shook hands with each, but beyond a short nod of his head and a brief ”Glad to meet you,” displayed no knowledge of their fame.

”Grouchy chap,” commented Paul when, the coach out of hearing, they were changing their clothes.

”Well, he doesn't hurt himself talking,” answered Neil. ”But he looks as though he knew his business. His eyes are like little blue-steel gimlets.”

”Doesn't look much for strength, though,” said Paul.

But when, a few minutes later, Mills appeared on the gridiron in football togs, Paul was forced to alter his opinion. Chest, arms, and legs were a ma.s.s of muscle, and the head coach looked as though he could render a good account of himself against the stiffest line that could be put together.

The practise began with ten minutes of falling on the ball. The candidates were lined out in two strings across the field, the old men in one, the new material in another. Neil and Paul were among the latter, and Mills held their ball. Standing at the right end of the line, he rolled the pigskin in front of and slightly away from the line, and one after another the men leaped forward and flung themselves upon it, missing it at first as often as not, and rolling about on the turf as though suddenly seized with fits. Neil rather prided himself on his ability to fall on the ball, and went at it like an old stager, or so he thought. But if he expected commendation he found none. When the last man had rolled around after the elusive pigskin, Mills went to the other end of the line and did it all over again.

When it came Neil's turn he plunged out, found the ball nicely, and snuggled it against his breast. To his surprise when he arose Mills left his place and walked out to him.

”Let's try that again,” he said. Neil tossed him the ball and went back to his place. Mills nodded to him and rolled the pigskin toward him.

Neil dropped on his hip, securing the ball under his right arm. Like a flash Mills was over him, and with a quick blow of his hand had sent the leather bobbing across the turf yards away.

”When you get it, hold on to it,” he said dryly. Neil arose with reddening cheeks and, amid the smiles of the others, went back to his place trying to decide whether, if he could have his way, the coach should perish by boiling oil or by merely being drawn and quartered. But after that it was a noticeable fact that the men clung to the ball when they got it as though it were a dearly loved friend.

Later, pa.s.sing down the line in front from end to end, the head coach threw the ball swiftly at the feet of one after another of the candidates, and each was obliged to drop where he stood and have the ball in his arms when he landed. When Mills came to Neil the latter was still nursing his resentment, and his cheeks still proclaimed that fact. After the boy had dropped on the ball and had tossed it back to the coach their eyes met. In the coach's was just the merest twinkle, a very ghost of a smile; but Neil saw it, and it said to him as plainly as words could have said, ”I know just how you feel, my boy, but you'll get over it after a while.”

The coach pa.s.sed on and the flush faded from Neil's cheeks; he even smiled a little. It was all right; Mills understood. It was almost as though they shared a secret between them. Alfred Mills, head football coach at Erskine College, had no more devoted admirer and partizan from that moment than Neil Fletcher, '05.

Next the men were spread out until there was a little s.p.a.ce between each, and the coach pa.s.sed behind the line and shot the ball through, and they had an opportunity to see what they could do with a pigskin that sped away ahead of them. By careful management it is possible in falling on a football to bring almost every portion of the anatomy in violent contact with the ground, and this fact was forcibly brought home to Neil, Paul, and all the others by the time the work was at an end.

”I've got bones I never knew the existence of before,” mourned Neil.

”Me too,” growled Paul. ”And half a dozen of my front teeth are aching from trying to bite holes in the ground; I think they're all loose. If they come out I'll send the dentist's bill to the management.”

A few minutes later Neil found himself at left half in one of the six squads of eleven men each that practised advancing the ball. They lined up in ordinary formation, and the ball was pa.s.sed to one back after another for end runs. Mills went from squad to squad, criticizing briefly and succinctly.

”Don't wait for the quarter to pa.s.s,” he told Paul, who was playing beside Neil. ”On your toes and run hard. Have confidence in your quarter. If the ball isn't ready for you it's not your fault. Try that again.”

And when Paul and Neil and the full-back had plowed round the left end once more--

”Quarter, don't hold that ball as though your hand was frozen; keep your hand limber and see that you get the belly of the ball in it, not one end; then it won't tilt itself out. When you get the ball from center rise quickly, put your back against guard, and throw your weight there.

And it's just as necessary for you to have confidence in the runner as it is for him to have faith in you. Don't fear that you'll be too quick for him; don't doubt but that he'll be there at the right instant. Keep that in mind and you'll soon have things going like clock-work. Now once more; ball to left half for a run around right end.”

When practise was over that day the new candidates were unanimous in the opinion that they had learned more that afternoon under Mills than they had learned during the whole previous week. Neil, Paul, and Cowan walked back to college together.

”Yes, he's a great little coach,” said Cowan, ”and a nice chap when you get to know him; no frills on him, you know. And he's plumb full of pluck. They say that once when he played here at half-back he got the ball on Robinson's forty yards and walked down the field and over the line for a touch-down with half the Robinson team hanging on to his legs, and said afterward that he thought he _had_ felt some one tugging at him!” Neil laughed.

”But he doesn't look so awfully strong,” he objected.

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