“Well, we’re sort of getting together, I guess,” said Willard. “There have been a good many changes made and so the team isn’t playing together awfully smoothly yet. Mr. Cade’s having a lot of trouble finding a full-back.” “A full-back? Is that so?” McNatt seemed rather more interested than previously. “What’s wrong there, Harmon?” Willard explained as best he could and McNatt nodded assent. “He’s right,” he declared. “To my way of thinking the full-back is the most important man on the team. He’s got to be strong and clever and have enough weight to carry him through the first defense. I don’t bank much on the very heavy sort, though. They generally lack the proper mental attributes. Do you know, Harmon, it’s strange to me that scientists have never made a thorough study of the relation of mind quality to body formation. Now take a type of fellow who is big of torso and neck; large above the waist, you understand; probably he will have a large head, too; most of them do. That fellow will be a persistent, hard fighter when he’s started and he will have good sound judgment. But he won’t be resourceful and he won’t be capable of quick decision. See what I mean? I believe that a thorough study of the subject would enable anyone to tell a man’s mental character off-hand by observing his physical construction.” “You’d better come out this afternoon and look over the substitutes,” laughed Willard. “Maybe you could pick out a full-back for Mr. Cade.” “Full-backs,” answered McNatt solemnly, “are very scarce. Good ones, I mean. I remember that when I played here two or three years ago it was difficult to find a satisfactory substitute.” “It isn’t a substitute that’s bothering this year,” said Willard ruefully, “it’s the real thing. Where did you play, McNatt? I mean what position.” “Full-back,” answered the other gravely. “Full-back!” “Yes, I played there my first year off and on, although I was only fifteen. I was large for my age, though. The next year I played the position until I was taken sick. After that I sort of fell out of the game. Well, I must get back.” He picked up his basket, nodded and went striding off toward Upton. Willard watched him go thoughtfully. After a minute, though, he tucked his pencil into a pocket, seized his book and hurried across to Lykes. Luck was with him when he knocked at Number 2 and entered. Joe was propped up on the window-seat, half hidden by a newspaper. “Hello, Brand,” he said. “What’s on your mind?” “More than is on yours, I guess,” answered Willard meaningly. Joe laughed. “Think so? Well, that’s the first paper I’ve seen in a week. I was looking over the Saturday games. Yale’s coming back all right, isn’t she? That fellow Loughlin who played left tackle for awhile is an Alton fellow. Wasn’t considered much good here, though, as I remember.” “Say, Joe, suppose a fellow played football this year and then didn’t play for two years more. Would he be any good?” “Good for what?”