“They are to me. I dare say it sounds conceited, but it’s really a fact that I know more football than most of those fellows on the First Team. I see that by watching them. More than half the time they do things without knowing why. One of those chaps there”――Loring nodded again toward the bookcase――“says that he doesn’t want the men he is coaching to know too much football; that he’d rather teach each one only what he can use in playing his position. He may be right, but I don’t think so. I don’t believe a thorough knowledge of the game is going to hurt any player. Of course the best way to get that knowledge is by experience, by starting as a little chap and learning as you go along; but lots of fellows never learn more than enough to hold down their positions by the skin of their teeth. If I was a coach I’d make my men read and study one of those books until they really knew what it was all about!” “Gee, that’s an idea,” said Clif. Loring laughed. “I can tell by the way you say that that you think I’m a perfect nut, Bingham. It does sound cheeky for a chap who can’t take a step without being held up to tell a real player――” “I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort,” protested Clif warmly. “I think it’s rather wonderful you’re so――so clever about it. I should think not being able to play would sort of――sort of sour you on football. I say, why don’t you coach one of the class teams? Couldn’t you do it?” “From a wheel chair? I’m afraid not. Anyhow, I dare say my knowledge of football isn’t more than half practical. It’s just ‘book learning,’ Bingham. I get a good deal of fun out of it, though.” Loring chuckled. “I’m an absolute nut about plays. Making them up, I mean. I’ve got――” He broke off to address Wattles. “Get me that portfolio, will you, Wattles? The one with the football diagrams in it. That’s it. Thanks. Have a look, Bingham. There’s where a lot of my time has gone. If you laugh I’ll throw the chessmen at you!” The portfolio was slightly larger than the sheet after sheet of letter-size bond paper inside and was closed with three knotted tapes. Each sheet held a diagram, sometimes two, and accompanying text, and Clif, turning over one after another, marveled at the neatness of the penned figures and lines and letters. Loring had used two colors of India ink in each case, showing the attacking team in black circles and the defending side in red. Straight lines were straight and curved lines were firm and graceful. The letters and figures were remarkable, and for a moment Clif thought that Loring was hoaxing him, that he was looking at printed diagrams. “Tandem Outside Guard,” he read. “Forward-Pass from Reverse Play (8),” “Forward-Pass from End Run Threat,” “Delayed Pass from Kick Formation.” Clif looked across at Loring admiringly. “Say, but these are corking! Do you think――I mean――”