Football claimed a good share of attention, and was the subject of much conversation between Clif and Tom, and, frequently, Billy Desmond. Billy was generous with advice, but although the boys followed the advice to the best of their abilities, it didn’t, as Clif put it, seem to get them anything. They worked hard and conscientiously, just as did three score others, but without any noticeable improvement in their status. The candidates had been sorted into four squads by Wednesday, and Clif and Tom were in Squad D. Squad D was composed of some sixteen or eighteen youths of various ages, sizes and football experiences in charge of “Pinky” Hilliard. “Pinky” also looked after Squad C, or did so until Friday, when Mr. Babcock joined the coaching staff. On that afternoon Squad A, and many of Squad B, were dismissed early, since the first game was scheduled for the morrow, and Coach Otis gave his attention to the remaining candidates. It was the seventh day of practice, and, after a preliminary hour of passing and falling on the ball, of starting and tackling the dummy, line and backfield candidates were separated, and the former hustled to the north end of the field by the head coach and given a half hour’s instruction in their duties. Afterwards, punters and forwards were sent to one side of the field, and backs to the other, and the balls were soon arching across to be pulled down by the backfield candidates, and run back while tackles and ends came across to meet them. Hard tackling was barred, however, the man with the ball either being run off to one side or merely blocked with the body. Clif, encountering Tom several times in midfield, regretted the prohibition. It would have added greatly to his enjoyment of the occasion to have been allowed to topple the dodging, feinting Tom to earth. He did secure some satisfaction on one encounter, however, by knocking the ball from Tom’s grasp and jeering as the latter vented outraged feelings and trotted off in pursuit. The air was full of flying balls, players raced this way and that and shouts of “Mine!” or “I’ve got it!” vied with the calls of the coaches. Lacking a scrimmage to watch, the audience in the stand was grateful for so much action, and, lolling comfortably in the shade, lazily voiced approval of a good punt or a clever catch or chortled merrily over some amusing incident. At the farther edge of the running track, toward the school buildings, two onlookers sat quite by themselves. One, covered to his waist by a light rug, leaned back at ease in a wheel chair. The second occupied a folding canvas stool set at the left and slightly to the rear of his companion. He was rather tall and rather bony, and, seated bolt upright, the inner edges of his shining black shoes touching, a hand on either knee of his carefully creased black serge trousers, he looked painfully respectable and extremely uncomfortable. The idea must have occurred to the occupant of the chair for he asked, glancing around: