When the game was done the Squad A players who had not participated were lined up against a Squad B eleven and there followed a short scrimmage in which Willard played left half for B and had a lot of fun. Squad A wasn’t formidable and it was no great stunt to gain outside her tackles, and once Willard got nicely away and would have made the only score of the scrimmage if an obnoxious youth named Hutchins, and better known as “Hutch,” hadn’t pulled him down on the six yards. From there, in spite of all her efforts, B couldn’t make much gain and the fourth down found the ball a yard short of the line. The scrimmage ended with a score and the empty stand attested the amount of interest the game provided the onlookers who had remained after the big contest. But Willard had enjoyed it and won a set of bruised fingers when one of the enemy had set an ungentle foot thereon, and he was quite contented the rest of the evening. But he did a lot of thinking and consulted Martin on the advisability of trying for an end position, and showed no gratitude when he was advised to fatten himself up and try for center! “You seem to be willing to stick on the bench all season,” he said aggrievedly, “but I don’t see any fun in that. If I--” “How do you mean, stick on the bench?” demanded Martin. “I’m not going to stick on any bench. Haven’t you noticed how pale and wan Bob is getting to look? He won’t last much longer. I think it’s sleeping sickness or something else slow and certain. He won’t acknowledge he’s sick, but I can tell! There’s a worried look about his eyes and Cal Grainger says he sleeps more than he used to.” “Oh, shut up!” said Willard, grinning. “Fact, though! You look at Bob some time when he doesn’t know he’s--ah--under observation and you’ll see what I mean. Sleeping sickness is very insidious, Brand, but always fatal. I’m sorry for Bob, of course, but I’m not hypocritical about it!” “Bob will be playing guard and you’ll be lugging the water pail when we meet Kenly,” retorted Willard. “I’m in earnest, though. Why shouldn’t I try for end instead?” “Because you’re a half-back, sonny. Playing end is something else again, and you’d have to learn a lot of new tricks, and the season might be over before you’d learn ’em.” “Well, I’d be ready for next year,” murmured Willard. “If that’s all you’re looking for, stay where you are. They’ll be using half-backs as well as ends next year, unless the Rules Committee gets gay again!” “Well, of course I do want to make the team this fall,” acknowledged the other. “Naturally. So do I. I wanted to last fall, too, but a cruel fate willed otherwise.” “Oh, you don’t care,” scoffed Willard. “You haven’t any--any--ambition.”