To an unbiased onlooker it might have appeared that the smiling, shock-haired man in the faded and torn sweater and the old khaki trousers had some reason for trundling the stuffed effigy along the wire for the benefit of Squad A, because, after all, quite a few members of that coterie performed extremely poorly at the task of wrapping their arms about the dummy and dragging it to earth, and not much better at throwing their bodies in front of it in blocking. In fact, those who appeared to have really mastered these sciences were to be counted on the fingers of two hands, omitting the thumbs! Even Captain Jonas Lowe, who, with Andy Dozier, left tackle, towered inches above all the others and looked the perfect football lineman, failed to win commendation to-day; a fact which aided Chick considerably to endure the indignity put upon him. Chick had not yet forgiven Jonas for winning the captaincy over his head, something which, of course, Jonas wasn’t in the least to blame for, although if you had charged Chick with harboring resentment at this late day he would have denied the allegation indignantly. He would probably have felt rather insulted. Certainly he would have reminded you that he had himself put the motion to make Jonas’s election unanimous, and he would have pointed out that he and the new captain were the best of friends. The latter assertion would, however, have been only negatively true. That is to say, he and Jonas were friends merely to the extent of never being unfriendly, which constitutes a relationship somewhat different from that implied by Chick. Whether Jonas realized that Chick still begrudged him the leadership of the team, would have been hard to say, but it was perfectly apparent that if he did realize it he was not in the least troubled about it. There was something rather Jovian about the big, cumbersome, placid Jonas. You got the impression of one gazing calmly down from Olympus, untroubled by petty mortals and their affairs.