“Well, you take my advice, Tom, and get cozy with Alick before you try baseball. Remember what happened last November!” “I’m not likely to forget,” answered the other moodily. “That doddering Ancient Mariner almost queered me for football. If it hadn’t been for you fellows――” Tom stopped and shook his head eloquently. “That experience absolutely soured me on sailors, and I’ve never been able to cheer for the president since.” “The president?” asked Loring, puzzled. “He’s got the name wrong,” laughed Clif. “Coleridge, Tom, and not Coolidge wrote _The Ancient Mariner_.” “Coleridge? Well, I guess it’s the same name, only spelled differently.” “What I don’t understand,” said Clif, “is how you manage to get good marks in your other courses and fall down flat in English.” “Because there’s some sense to the other stuff, you poor prune! Any one can see that he’s got to know math and history and――well, yes, even Latin, although I’m not strong for it. But, man to man, Loring, what’s it going to get me to know about a loony old guy like that ‘Ancient Mariner’ or read this _Sketch Book_ twaddle by Irving? Why didn’t he stick to acting instead of――” “Tom, you’ll be the death of me yet!” gasped Clif. “What did I say then?” demanded Tom indignantly. “You give me a pain, both of you!” But he grinned as though to signify that the pain wasn’t acute. When he had stopped laughing Loring said: “Speaking of baseball, doesn’t practice start this week?” “Thursday,” agreed Clif. “Are you going out?” “Yes. So is Tom.” “I don’t know yet if I am or not,” said Tom. “What’s the good of it if I get in wrong with Alick and have to quit when the season’s half through?” “Don’t get in wrong,” advised Clif cheerfully. “Huh, that’s easy enough to say!” “You’d better,” said Loring. “Clif can’t be the whole team, you know.” “I’ll be lucky if I get a place,” said Clif; “any sort of a place. I’ve played some, but I’m not really much good, and I guess I’m likely to find myself in fast company here.” “Heck,” said Tom, “I guess the bunch isn’t so wonderful. I notice that they got a lot of wallopings last spring. I may not try for their old team, but if I do try you can bet I’ll make it.” “Modest, shrinking little violet, isn’t he?” asked Clif of Loring. “Hates himself to death, eh?” “That’s all right,” said Tom, “but I’ve seen some of the guys who made the nine last year, and if I can’t play as good ball as they can I’ll――I’ll――” “Quit?” suggested Clif. “Well, I haven’t your confidence, old son, and if Mr. Connover lets me stick around on the second I’ll say ‘Thank you.’” “I’ve heard,” remarked Loring, “that ‘Steve’ is a pretty good coach.” “I guess he is,” said Tom. “Anyway, he made a mighty good football coach last fall when ‘Cocky’ went to the first. If he can coach the nine as well as he coached the old Fighting Scrub he will be a humdinger. Steve didn’t know an awful lot of football, but you wouldn’t have suspected it, eh, Clif?”