"There isn't a lot to choose between them, I guess," answered Tim. "Gafferty's no earthly good on offence. Wait till we run up against Benton tomorrow. Those huskies will show Gafferty up finely. And maybe some more of us," Tim added with a chuckle. "Oh, well----" began Don, vaguely, after a minute. But Tim interrupted. "Know what I think? I think Robey means to take you on the first later and is letting you stay with Boots just so you'll get fined down and speeded up a bit. You know you're still a little slow, Donald." "I am?" Don asked in genuine surprise. "I didn't know it. How do you mean, slow, Tim?" Tim leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together behind his head. "Every way, Donald. I'm telling you this for your own good, dearie. I thought you realised it, though, or I'd have said it before. You start slow and you don't get up steam until the play's about over. If it wasn't that you're an indecently strong chap we'd get the jump on you every time. We do, as it is, only it doesn't do us much good, because you're a tough chap to move. Now you think it over, Don. See if you can't ginger up a bit. Bet you anything that when you do Robey'll have you yanked off that second team in no time at all!" "I'm glad you told me," said Don, after a moment's consideration. "I thought I was doing pretty well this fall. I know well enough it was being all-fired slow that kept me off the first last fall, but I surely thought I'd picked up a whole lot of speed. I'll have to go back to practising starts, I guess." "Oh, never mind the kindergarten stuff, old man. Just put more jump into it. You'll find you can do it all right, now that you know about it. Why, I'll bet you'll be performing like a Jack rabbit before the season's over!" "Like a jackass, more likely," responded Don ruefully. "No, for a jackass, dearie, doesn't take a hint." "Well, but I don't believe I _can_ play any faster, Tim. If I could I'd be doing it, wouldn't I? Just naturally, I mean." "Never mind the conundrums, Don. You try it. If you do I'll be willing to guarantee you a place on the first." "I guess your guarantee wouldn't cut much ice," objected Don, with a laugh. Then he sobered and added: "Funny game, though, me coaching Kirkwell and Merton and Goodhugh. Looks as if I was the one needed the coaching." "Sure. We all need it. No one's perfect, Don, although, without boasting, I will say that I come pretty near it." "You come pretty near being a perfect chump, if that's what you mean." Tim shook his head. "It isn't at all what I mean. Now cut out the artless prattle and let me find some sense in this history stuff--if there is any!" CHAPTER IX THE WIDTH OF A FINGER