In spite of Dan’s request to the contrary, Ned accompanied Kendall to the field the next afternoon. Kendall was clothed in Ned’s football togs, which fitted him fairly well. In appearance they were brand-new, for Ned’s football career had been brief and the immaculate khaki trousers held not the tiniest smooch. What Dan had said to the Second Team’s captain isn’t known, although Ned secretly wondered how the former had managed to put such an extraordinary request. To instate an inexperienced player even on the Second at the tag end of the season was an outlandish proceeding, and Ned knew that Dan had done it only to show his appreciation of Ned’s companionship on that walk to Lloyd. As for Kendall, it never occurred to him to wonder about the proceeding. He was still pretty green in such matters. Staniford was a big, broad-shouldered First Class fellow who took his captaincy of the Second very seriously and worked like a Trojan with his fellows under him. He greeted Kendall very briefly and sent him to the bench, but Ned noticed with amusement that the captain’s gaze followed Kendall with perplexity. “He’s laying it to politics,” said Ned to himself with a chuckle, “and he’s wondering what Curt is going to do for Vinton in return. Alas, human nature is terribly suspicious!” After a while Kendall was sent onto the field with a squad of Second Team substitutes to run through signals. It was his first experience with signals, and from his place at left half-back he made so many mistakes at first that the entire squad viewed him with disgust and resentment. But he began to understand what was required, and for the last five minutes of the drill acquitted himself fairly well. But there were many who asked that afternoon: “Who’s the jay Stany put in here to-day? Where’d he come from? What’s he think this is, a kindergarten?” From which you may gather the impression that Kendall’s first day as a member of the Second Team was not highly successful. The First was walked and then trotted through two of the new plays that afternoon, and later, when it faced the Second, it tried them out. You can never tell on paper what a play will be on the field, and to-day one of the two plays proved utterly impractical and was immediately dropped. Altogether, that afternoon’s practice was not a success, a fact recognized by coaches, captain and players, and there was a general air of discouragement apparent afterwards. Two graduates, old football players, had put in an appearance that day and had bothered Payson to death with their advice and interference. They had the best intentions in the world and had as likely as not sacrificed time and trouble to be there, but the amount of actual assistance they rendered was nil. Payson growled to Cowles, the manager, on the way up the hill, that if he had his way there’d be a notice at the school entrance reading, “No graduates allowed.”