“Not exactly that,” said Kendall quietly. “I did make a few friends, though, of course, but the reason I got on at football was because I could do a little something and they found it out. You buckle down and learn the game, Cotton, and then, if you can play fairly well, you’ll get your chance. There isn’t a squarer man alive than Coach Payson, and Captain Merriwell is a mighty good sort, too. Just the same, it won’t do you any harm to meet fellows, and I tell you what you do, Cotton; you come down some evening and make a call. Fellows are always drifting in and out of our room. Lots of them I don’t know very well myself, but Gerald will introduce you.” “Thanks,” replied Cotton almost gratefully. “I will. Wellington doesn’t like me very well, I guess, and I don’t think much of him, either. He’s a sort of a Smart Aleck, isn’t he?” “I don’t know him very well,” answered Kendall noncommittally. “Here comes the scrimmage. Don’t forget, Cotton. Come and see us some evening.” “First and second squads!” called Mr. Payson. “Line up as you did yesterday.” Blankets were tossed aside, head-guards caught up and twenty-two eager aspirants thronged on to the field. Kendall trotted out to his place on the second squad. Across the field, at the other end of the fifteen-yard line, was Greene. Under the goal stood Holmes, who was fighting hard against Simms for the quarter-back position. Up the field the first squad were lined up for the kick-off, on their toes, awaiting the whistle. Then Fales, left-guard, swung his long leg and the brown oval came flying over the white lines, turning lazily in its flight. Down rushed the enemy. The second squad defenders moved to the left to meet the onslaught as the ball dipped into Greene’s arms. The interference formed quickly. Bodies thudded together, players went down. Greene, clutching the ball, shot forward, three players cutting a path for him. A feint to the left, a quick turn to the right and the opening was found. One, two, three white lines passed under his pounding feet. Then a lithe body sprang upon him. Greene struggled forward. Another foeman charged and the three went down. The whistle piped. “First down! Ten to go!” called the referee. There was a quick lining-up, Holmes rattled off the signal, Kendall trotted back to punting position, Best, at center, passed the ball, Kendall caught it breast-high, stepped forward, swung his leg and away hurtled the pigskin, arching high against the blue afternoon sky, and away sped the players to line up again on the first squad’s thirty yards. The punt had been a good one, forty-five yards in distance and high enough to let the ends down under it and upset the runner before he could more than get started.