“It’s a mighty good thing toads can’t talk,” observed Willard. “With a tongue like that, they’d never stop! McNatt asked me to come and see him. He said he had a fine collection of minerals in his room.” “Minerals? Boy, he’s got enough rocks there to build a house! And bird nests and butterflies and beetles and--and things in jars that make you shudder to look at ’em!” Joe shuddered merely at the memory. “He’s always trying to hatch out moths and things in cigar boxes. Once he had some silk-worms, I remember. Mr. Screven got him to bring them to class one day. Funny things, they were. They didn’t live very long, because McNutt couldn’t get the right sort of leaves for them to eat. They should have had mulberry leaves, I think, and he thought some other sort ought to do just as well, and the worms got mad and went on a hunger strike! Fuller told me once that the room is so full of rubbish that he can’t turn around. Said he was forever finding a family of white mice or striped lizards tucked away in one of his bureau drawers and that he always had to look before he sat down for fear of sitting on something he shouldn’t!” When the laughter had subsided Willard told of McNatt’s theory regarding scientific football. He found that, as he told it, it didn’t sound as plausible as it had when McNatt explained it, but it certainly aroused amusement. Joe drew a picture of Gil Tarver pulling out a memorandum book and looking up the right play. “Because, you see, not even Gil could ever remember two hundred--was it two hundred, Brand?--three hundred plays. Probably they’d make a rule that a quarter-back must find his plays unassisted and must not consume more than three minutes looking them up! Gil would have a pocket built on his jacket to keep the book in, I suppose.” “Gosh, suppose it dropped out!” exclaimed Don. “Would he be allowed time-out to look for it?” “Probably a center would be picked for his light-finger ability,” suggested Bob. “It would be part of his stunt to reach through or around the opposing center and steal the quarter-back’s memorandum book, thus placing the enemy _hors de combat_!” “Come on, Brand,” begged Martin. “This is getting wild.” “Did McNatt ever play football?” asked Don. “I think so,” Joe answered. “Yes, I know he did. He was out for the team the first year I was here. You remember him, Bob?” Bob shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard that he did play.” “Yes, and I think he played the year before that. Something happened to him, though, my freshman year. I guess he had an accident or got sick. I know he wasn’t around long. Seems to me he was trying for half-back. He’s not a bad old scout, Felix Adelbert. Only trouble is, I guess, his brains are sort of scrambled.” “Addled, maybe,” suggested Martin. “Addle-bert McNutt. Come on, Brand, I’m getting it too!” “I think I’ll accept his invitation some day,” said Willard, as they crossed to Haylow. “I’d like to see that room of his!”