On Friday there was only a short practice for the first- and second-string players, since the next day’s game with Peebles was expected to be difficult, and they were sent from the field early. Those who remained were set against one another in a scrimmage, and Barry, while he was still on the bench when the fracas started, was pretty certain of getting into action before it was finished. He was worried, however, by the fact that there was so much ragged playing going on that any misdeeds of his were likely to pass unnoted! “Locke! Oh, Locke!” Barry started to attention. Major Loring was calling to him from the farther end of the long bench. He got to his feet, dropping his blanket. “Get a ball and come along,” called the coach. Barry rooted in the canvas bag and found a ball which still showed some of its original surface, then joined the Major. “We’ll go down to the other end,” said the latter, leading the way. “I want to see what you know about punting, Locke. Ever done much of it?” “No, sir. I haven’t played a whole lot, anyway.” “What position did you play when you did play?” “I was tried at several places,” answered the boy, ruefully. “End, first. And last year at quarter and half. I――I don’t think I’m any good, sir. Not worth bothering with――much.” Major Loring turned and surveyed Barry with a puzzled smile. “You’re not stuck up about your playing, are you?” he asked. “What are you trying to do, Locke? Get me to let you go?” Barry flushed. “Well, I’m not very particular about playing, Major. Not this year.” “I believe you,” said the other, dryly. “Still, I think you’d better stick it out for a few days longer. Here we are. Now punt one back of goal. Don’t try for distance. Swing easy. Take your time.” Barry realized that here was an excellent opportunity to prove his case. All he had to do, doubtless, was to mess up a few punts. He had told the coach that the kick of Monday was largely an accident, and if he failed a few times now the Major was bound to believe it. But, as he turned the pigskin in his hands, he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to pretend. Probably he would perform poorly enough, in any case, but at least he would just have to do his best. His best wasn’t so bad, as was proved an instant later. He had failed to strike the ball squarely and it went off to the left, but it covered most of forty yards before it landed. The Major started away after the pigskin and Barry followed him. After a moment the Major said: “Not bad, Locke. In fact, I don’t see why we can’t make a punter of you in time. Let’s try it again. Kick down the field this time, so that one of those fellows can send it back.”