“Maybe.” But Johnny’s tone was dubious. “He won’t find it unless he looks for it, though, and it doesn’t seem to me that he’s taking the trouble to look.” The coach laughed softly, ruefully. “The funny thing is, Cap, that he’s got me bluffed. I know mighty well that he needs jacking up, but every time I get ready to ask him if he won’t kindly come alive and take an interest in things he turns that calmly superior gaze on me and I haven’t the courage. Why, drat his handsome hide, Cap, he looks like he _invented_ football! Speaking harshly to him would be like--like knocking off the President’s hat with a snowball!” Rus chuckled. “He’s got me like that, too. I want to apologize every time I open my mouth to him. Do you know, I’m beginning to wonder whether it wouldn’t be a good plan to switch him over to the subs for a few days. It might be good medicine.” “Ye-es, it might. We’ll see how he comes on the first of the week, though. Besides, Cap, who’s going to tell him he’s out of the line-up?” laughed Johnny. “Me, I’d have to write him a letter or send him a telegram!” There was a knock at the door and Tod Tenney came in. “Hello, Coach! Hi, Rus! Say, is there anything special this evening? Anything to discuss, I mean? If there isn’t I want to cut. There’s a shindig down town.” Tod grinned. “‘Nobody knows,’” hummed Rus, “‘where the Old Man goes, but he takes his dancing shoes!’” “Yes, there’s one thing,” answered the coach gravely. “I’d like your opinion, Tod. What do you think of this fellow Renneker?” Tod already had the doorknob in hand, and now he turned it, pulled the portal inward and sort of oozed through the aperture. But before the countenance quite disappeared the mouth opened and the oracle spoke. “He’s a false-alarm,” was the verdict. Then the door closed. Sunday afternoon Slim and Leonard went to walk again and, at Leonard’s suggestion, ended up at Number 102 Melrose avenue. Johnny McGrath seemed extremely pleased to see them, but Slim had to hint broadly before the lemonade pitcher appeared. They talked of yesterday’s game, which Johnny had attended. “I took my kid brother,” said Johnny. “He plays on his grammar school team now and then. He’s a sort of tenth substitute or something, as near as I get it. Well, he told me confidentially yesterday after we got home that his team could beat the stuffing out of ours!” Slim laughed. “I wouldn’t want to say it couldn’t, the way we played yesterday. How does it happen, though, that the kid’s playing football when you can’t, Johnny?” Johnny smiled. “Mother doesn’t know it, you see. Maybe I ought to tell on him, but he’s crazy about it and I haven’t the heart. Sure, I don’t believe he’s likely to get hurt, for all the playing he does.” “Nor I. I just wondered. I do wish you could talk your mother around, though.”