Outside, Dick pulled the booklet from his pocket and sought information regarding physical examinations. He found a whole page on the subject. It was necessary, it appeared, to go to the Physical Director’s office in the gymnasium and make application for an appointment. Students failing to keep appointments promptly were required to make new ones. There was much more, but that was sufficient for the present, and Dick made his way back along the road to the gymnasium. Inside, he had to take his place in a line of nearly a dozen boys, and progress toward the wicket, behind which a youth not much older than Dick supplied information or made out appointment cards, was slow. Eventually, though, Dick reached the window, made known his wants and was given a slip of pasteboard which informed him that the Physical Director would see him at five-fifteen on Wednesday. That was the day after tomorrow. It looked to Dick as if he could not report for football until he had been passed by the Physical Director and could not be passed by the director until it was too late to report for football! Perhaps, however, that notice in the Administration Building didn’t mean quite what it said. He would ask someone when he found the chance. With an hour remaining before supper time and nothing better to do, he wandered across to where a score of fellows were trotting about the gridiron or kicking and catching at the further end of it. That first uninterrupted sight of Parkinson Field greatly increased his respect for the school, and he paused at a corner of the big grand stand and admired. Nearly twelve acres of level turf stretched before him. There were three gridirons, that of the First Team enclosed by a quarter-mile track, as well as several baseball diamonds and numerous tennis courts, both dirt and grass. A handful of onlookers were scattered over the stand and another handful stood along the side-line. A stout, round-faced man in an old sweater and a pair of frayed trousers had “Trainer” written all over him, and since at the moment he was occupied only in juggling a football from one hand to the other, Dick decided to seek information of him. “My name’s Bates,” announced Dick, “and I’m going to try for the team, but I understand that I’ve got to take my physical examination first. Is that correct?” Billy Goode viewed him critically before he answered. Rather to Dick’s surprise the trainer seemed not at all impressed by what he saw. “You can report as soon as you like,” he replied at last, “but you can’t play until you’ve been o. k.’d, my friend. What’s your name?” “Bates,” answered Dick. He had already given it once, but perhaps the other hadn’t caught it. “I’m from Leonardville High.” “Uh-huh. Played, have you?” “Yes.” It seemed to Dick that any live, wide-awake football trainer should have been aware of the fact. “Yes, I’ve played quite a little.”