“Maybe you’d be an officer, too,” Hugh suggested, smiling. “Oh, I should! I’d be General Blake, Commander of the United States Expeditionary Forces; and so, instead of beating you over the bean with the butt end of my rusty trifle――er, trusty rifle, I’d slash off your head with my bejeweled sword. There’d be some style to that, eh?” “Don’t see what good the V. C. would do me under the circumstances,” objected Hugh. “I’m not keen for that programme, Nick. I say, isn’t it getting late? Hadn’t we better nip it?” “Almost half-past four, by ginger! Never mind, we’ve got the current with us going back, and you can rest up. How are the shoulders and sturdy biceps, Duke?” “Rather lame, thanks.” “Don’t mention it. Chawmed, I’m sure. Tumble in and I’ll shove her off.” The next day the second team became an official fact. Mr. Crowley, the assistant athletic director, took charge of the coaching and the squad of nineteen started in at training table in Manning that noon. Ben Myatt was chosen captain. As usual, Hugh went over to the field after school in the afternoon and looked on. He had secretly hoped to make an end position on the second, but there were Bellows and Forbes in the coveted places, and no word had come from Hanrihan. He began to believe, with Bert, that his chances for this year were at an end. The first was going through signal drill, Nick driving one squad and Weston the other. Behind each line-up a few sweatered substitutes followed. Neil Ayer was at quarter for the second, further down the field, and Mr. Crowley, familiarly known as “Dinny,” with a half-dozen unplaced candidates, looked on. There was just a suspicion of frost in the air today, and the fact told on the players. There was more vim in their movements as, in response to the voices of the quarter-backs, they trotted up and down with the balls. Coach Bonner and Jim Quinn, the manager, were conversing in front of the bench, and Davy Richards, the trainer, was mending a head-guard discarded by one of the players a few minutes before. Hugh wondered what Mr. Bonner would say if he broached the subject of reinstatement. At the worst he could only scowl and say no. And he might say yes! But――well, Coach Bonner wasn’t the sort of man one felt like making suggestions to! Besides, Hanrihan had told Hugh to wait. There were few onlookers about the first team gridiron today, for the upper and lower middlers were playing the first of the class games on the further field and the crowd was over there. Hugh was debating whether to follow or to remain here in the hope of getting some word from Hanrihan when that youth came to the bench. In front of him the second team squad, players and followers, came to a breathless pause after a forward pass and Mr. Crowley, short, square, red-faced, criticized gruffly. At that moment Hugh became conscious of someone at his shoulder and heard Mr. Smiley’s deep and pleasant voice. “What do you think of them, Ordway?” asked the Latin instructor.