Still later, after a full half hour of signal work in the squad directed by Holmes, Kendall walked back to the bench, draping a blanket over his shoulders, and spied an empty space beside Cotton. He was not favorably impressed by that youth, but the latter’s attempts had been so pathetic and his countenance now showed so much weariness that Kendall, from kindness of heart, squeezed into the space and asked cheerfully how he had got on. Cotton evidently did not for the minute recognize in football togs his host of a few nights before, nor did he respond very affably to the overture. Instead he shot a rather sullen and somewhat suspicious glance at Kendall and said, “All right,” in a tone that seemed to ask what business it was of the inquirer’s. “Have you ever played before?” asked Kendall. “I think Wellington said you had, though.” “A little.” He examined Kendall curiously, began to recall his features and thawed. “I went out for the team last Fall, but”――he shrugged his shoulders, hinting at things too regrettable to mention――“I didn’t make it. Say, you’re Burtis, aren’t you? I didn’t know you at first.” Kendall acknowledged it. “What school were you at last year?” he asked, less from curiosity than a desire to seem friendly. “Kingston Manor; near Baltimore. It’s a pretty good school; not as big as this, but I didn’t care much for the fellows there. It was awfully cliquish. That’s why I didn’t get on the team. I wasn’t swell enough for them.” He laughed disagreeably. “Too bad.” Kendall tried to put into his voice sympathy he didn’t feel. For some reason Cotton awakened a feeling in him closely akin to dislike, and it troubled Kendall, for there seemed no excuse for it. Kendall could almost invariably find something to like in an acquaintance, and when he couldn’t he still stopped short of actual antipathy. In the present case, fearing that he was doing the other an injustice, he took especial pains to be nice. They talked football for a minute or two. Cotton expressed doubt of obtaining a fair trial. “I guess if you don’t have friends here it’s about the same as it was at Kingston or――or anywhere else.” “I don’t think that,” responded Kendall. “I don’t believe they care much here who or what you are if you can play football. Why, I didn’t know a soul in school when I got here last Fall. I don’t know very many yet.” “Oh, well, you got taken up by Pennimore and that crowd,” replied Cotton with something like a sneer.