This time, by being more careful about dropping the ball, Barry did better as to direction, slightly better as to distance. He made five other tries in the course of the next ten minutes. None of the punts were remarkable, none were, under the circumstances, really bad. Major Loring stopped him several times and corrected the boy’s methods. Barry did not, he said, swing his kicking leg wide enough; nor did he carry his foot up sufficiently after meeting the ball. Trying to remedy these defects, Barry did not quite so well as at first. Major Loring called a halt finally, tucked the ball under his arm, and went back to the bench. “It looks to me,” he said shrewdly, “as if you’d done more punting than you tell about, Locke. You’re very far from perfect, but you show evidences of a good deal of practice. What’s the answer?” “I guess that’s because I kicked the ball around a good bit summer before last. I had sort of an idea I might get a place on the high-school team; just as a substitute, of course. I used to practise on the beach, up in Maine. There was a slope, a kind of cliff, back of the beach, and when it was low tide I could kick toward the cliff and the ball would roll pretty well back to me. Sometimes Clyde Allen and one or two other fellows up there would take a hand.” “I see. Well, I think you’d better make up your mind to stick with us this fall. For a month anyway. If you come along well, I may give you a chance in a game before the season’s over. Anyhow, Locke, you ought to be in line for a back-field position next year. That would give you two seasons on the team here and send you up to college pretty well prepared to grab off a place there. “Now, you’ll work along with the backs, Locke,” the Major went on, “and learn all the football you can. Punting is a good thing to know, but it won’t get you anywhere unless you’re an all-around player. For a while I want you to put in fifteen or twenty minutes――fifteen is enough for now――practising punts. You can do it during scrimmage. Get one of the fellows to catch for you. All right?” “Yes, sir, only――” “Only what?” asked the Major, a trifle sharply. Barry blinked. He couldn’t tell the Major about Clyde’s not approving of his playing football! He fell back on his former plea. “I don’t believe I’ll ever make a player, sir,” he said desperately. “You won’t if you insist on keeping that idea in your head,” observed the Major. “Get rid of it, Locke. You do your best: that’s all I’m expecting. If your best isn’t good enough, I’ll let you know, all right.” He nodded, arose, and walked out on the field, leaving Barry with the rueful suspicion that, as a start for his football career, he had displeased the coach!