“It would be,” answered Bert, “but it’s not so easy.” “Sort of wants his own way, don’t he? I noticed that myself. Well, anyhow, I’ll do what I can. I guess you’re right about it’s interfering with football, for I heard he wasn’t going so good lately; and last night he was sure sore as a pup on that Cade guy. Well, see you later!” Mr. Devore departed, jaunty and cheerful, eight dollars richer than on his arrival, and Bert, discovering that there was no time at present to worry about Chick’s finances, hurried away to Lykes. In Number 5, Ted Ball was in sole possession when Bert entered. Ted arose from under a rustling burden of newspapers and kicked a chair toward the radiator. “Sit low and roost your feet,” he invited. “Sort of coolish, isn’t it? Well, how’s the hero feeling to-day?” “Shut up,” said Bert, grinning. “I’m no hero, and you know it. Listen here, Ted. I want to know something. What’s the idea of pretending that I pulled a big stunt yesterday when you know well enough, and every one else knows, too, that it was the rest of you chaps who did the hard work?” Ted looked mildly surprised. “Hard work? How do you acquire that condition, Bert? The rest of us did our parts, of course, but you carried the old prolate spheroid, didn’t you?” “Yes, but what of it? I couldn’t help getting through that line with about six of you going ahead and behind. You see, Ted, I have a funny feeling that all you others are sort of laughing in your sleeve when fellows give me the credit.” “Oh, that’s it; I get you now, Bert.” Ted observed the caller speculatively for a moment and then shook his head. “You’re too modest, old chap. If you don’t watch your step you’ll never make a football player; a real ne plus ultra one, I mean. You’ve got to get rid of your modesty first.” “Quit talking rot,” grumbled Bert. “All right. Let me tell you something that, maybe, hasn’t occurred to you. When you read in the paper that some fellow has raced forty or sixty or eighty or something yards and scored a touchdown and has thereby become a hero and a--a popular idol, you--if you’re like most folks--don’t stop to ask how come that fellow was able to do it. Sometimes, but not often, he did it because he was a remarkable runner and dodger and because Lady Luck paced him most of the way, but most times--about nine times out of ten--he did it because ten other fellows got him started and, say, four other fellows helped him past the secondary defense and, maybe, two others went with him most of the way and upset tacklers and saw him through. All that, old chap, is what generally happens. Can’t be any other way--often, for it stands to reason that one man, no matter how gosh-awful good he is, can’t attack eleven opponents and get away with it.” “I suppose that’s so,” said Bert thoughtfully. “And that’s what I meant, too. Take yesterday--”