Out came a note book and pencil and one by one the candidates' names were entered. Roy looked on while he awaited his turn and thought that he was going to like Mr. Cobb. The instructor was rather small, a trifle bald-headed and apparently a bunch of muscles. His scarcity of hair could hardly have been due to advanced age for he didn't look a bit over thirty. In his time he had been a good quarter-back on his college eleven and one of the best shortstops of his day. The small youth at Roy's right, after darting several diffident looks in his direction, at length summoned courage to address him. "You're a new boy, aren't you?" he asked. "Brand new," answered Roy smilingly. "How about you?" "Oh, I've been here two years." The knowledge lent a degree of assurance and he went on with less embarrassment. "I was a junior last year and couldn't play. You know, they won't let the juniors play football here. Mighty mean, I think, don't you?" "Well, I don't know," answered Roy. "I played when I was twelve, but I guess it's pretty risky for a kid of that age to do it. How old are you?" "Fourteen. Do you think I'll stand any show to get on the team?" "Why not? You look pretty solid. Can you run?" "Not very fast. Ferris said I wouldn't have any show at all and so I thought I'd ask you; you seemed to know about football." "Did I? How could you tell?" asked Roy surprisedly. "Oh, by the way you--went at it," answered the other vaguely. "Oh, I see. Who's Ferris?" "S-sh!" The small youth lowered his voice. "That's he next to you; Otto Ferris. He's trying for half-back. He almost made it last year." "Is he on the crew?" asked Roy. "Yes, Number Three. He's a particular chum of Burlen's." "You don't say? And who's Burlen?" The other's features expressed surprise and something very much like pain. "Don't you know who Burlen is?" he asked incredulously. "Why, he's--" But Roy's curiosity had to go unsatisfied for the moment, for Mr. Cobb appeared with his book. "Well, Sidney, you're out for the team at last, eh?" "Yes, sir; do you think I can make it, sir?" "Who knows? You'll have to get rid of some of that fat, though, my boy." Mr. Cobb turned to Roy. "Let's see, I met you last evening, didn't I?" "Yes, sir." "I thought so; and the name was--er--Brown wasn't it?" "Porter, sir." "Oh, Porter; I remember now. How old are you?" "Sixteen, sir." "Played before, haven't you?" "Yes, sir." "Where abouts?" "In New York, on my grammar school eleven." "What position?" "Quarter, first; then left half." "Which was the best?" "Quarter, I think, sir." "What class are you in?" "Second senior." "Thank you; that's all." The coach passed on and Sidney claimed Roy's attention again. "Do you think I'm very fat?" he asked anxiously. "I should say you had about ten or twelve pounds that might as well come off," answered Roy. "Does drinking vinegar help?" "I never tried it," laughed Roy. "But exercise is a heap surer."