“And as this is Tuesday and there wasn’t much jump yesterday, I guess we are!” “Oh, you can’t tell by yesterday. Monday’s always a bad day. There ought to be a difference by to-morrow, though. He’s got nothing to do except put pep into them and teach the new signals, as I understand it. I suppose they’re learning signals to-day, and that’s why practice is secret, eh?” “I suppose so. To-morrow’s is to be secret, too, I hear. The only time we’ll see them in action again before the game will be Thursday. Oh, well, we’ll hope for the best.” “And fear the worst! By the way, I understand there’s talk of making Burtis captain next year.” “What?” exclaimed Harry. “Who says so?” “Well, it seems to interest you! Why, I don’t know just where I heard it; someone said something about it yesterday; said the players had been talking about it since Saturday’s game. I suppose Burtis made rather a hit with them Saturday.” “He made a hit with all of us, I guess! It was mighty plucky to make that touchdown with his wrist all banged up. I wish they would give him the captaincy.” “Well, I don’t know. Yes, I’d like him to have it if he wants it, because I think he’s a mighty nice, straight sort. But whether he’s got the stuff in him that leaders are made of――――” “I know. I’ve wondered about that myself. And here’s what I’ve concluded, Duke. I’ve concluded that Kendall Burtis is the sort of chap who doesn’t show goods until they’re called for. I mean that while he seems very quiet and easy-going and not especially brilliant, just put responsibility on him and he sort of blazes up. See what I mean?” “I get you, O Solomon! I guess you’re right, too. Look at Saturday. He was the man of the hour then, wasn’t he? And, anyhow, he’s as promising as any of the other fellows who are eligible. Goodness knows, Pete Girard or Fales wouldn’t make a captain. Howard Crandall might do. It’s too bad Holmes isn’t going to be with us another year.” “Yes, he’d make a good one. Hello, I didn’t know you were interested in postage stamps, Duke.” Harry had taken a yellow covered pamphlet from the table and was reading the inscription on it: “Parkinson’s Bulletin for November――Rare Stamps for Collectors.” “Stamps used to be a hobby of mine. I’ve got a couple of thousand of them at home.” “That isn’t mine, that’s Cotton’s. He gets more truck like that than you can shake a stick at. He collects the foolish things, he says. Got me cornered one night and babbled about ‘cancellations’ and ‘watermarks’ and ‘perforations’ until I had the earache. He says―――― Say what’s the matter with you? Feel ill, do you?” “Wait!” replied Harry sharply. He was staring intently, scowlingly at the window. Suddenly his face cleared and he gave a laugh of triumph. “I’ve got him!” he cried. “I’ve got him!” “Hooray! Who have you got?” “Cotton!” “You may keep him,” declared The Duke with enthusiasm. “And I don’t care what you do with him!”