Wednesday found him again at tackle, but now on the right of the line, with Stimson at one elbow and Gurley dodging back and forth at his other side. He found Butler less trying as a vis à vis than Billy Wells, but he somehow wished Johnny hadn’t changed him over. Billy, even at his deadliest, was an honorable foe, and even a partial success gained against Billy was something to be proud of. Not, however, that Leonard found Butler an easy adversary. Far from it. Butler made Leonard look pretty poor more than half the time, while, when Leonard was obliged to give his attention to Left Guard Smedley, the substitute tackle made an even sorrier showing. On the whole, Leonard wasn’t a bit proud of his work, either on offense or defense, during the first period, and returned to the bench convinced that his goose was cooked. When Johnny, criticizing and correcting along the line of panting players, reached Leonard he stopped again. “Not so good to-day,” he said. “What was wrong, Grant?” Leonard hadn’t the least idea what was wrong, beyond a general inability to play the position as it should be played, and, besides, he was horribly surprised and embarrassed by the unexpected attention. Nevertheless, after a moment of open-mouthed dumbness, he had a flash of inspiration. “I don’t think I can play so well at left tackle, sir,” he replied, meeting the coach’s eyes with magnificent assurance. Mr. Cade smiled very slightly and moved past. But he turned his face again toward Leonard an instant later. “I’ll take you up on that, Grant,” he said sharply. Leonard felt uncomfortable. He wasn’t quite certain what Johnny had meant. Besides, there had been something--well, not exactly unfriendly, but sort of--sort of rasping in his tone; as if Johnny had thought to himself, “Get sassy with me, will you. I’ll show you!” Leonard wished now he had kept his mouth shut. Some of the fellows who had taken part in the first period of scrimmaging were making their way back to the showers, but as no one dismissed him Leonard sat still and got his breath back and wondered what awaited him. Then Tod Tenney called “Time up, Coach!” and Johnny Cade swung around and pulled out his little book and sent them back on the field again. “B Team,” he called. “Gurley and Kerrison, ends; Wilde and Grant, tackles; Squibbs and--” But Leonard didn’t hear any more. He was shedding his blanket and telling himself fiercely that he just had to make good now. The fierceness remained throughout the subsequent twenty-one minutes required to play ten minutes of football. At the first line-up Billy Wells smiled joyfully at Leonard. “See who’s here,” he called gayly, swinging his big arms formidably. “Who let you in, sonny? Some one sure left the gate open! Which way are you coming?” “Inside,” answered Leonard grimly. “Welcome to our midst, sweet youth!”