“What’s the difference?” demanded Tom. “Sim would do the same thing if the pass was direct to the runner. He’s got to learn to keep his shoulder out of sight. Either that or quit! Say, I’ve known backs who gave the play away by shifting or moving their feet or something, but this is the first time I ever heard of a quarter giving the other team a starting signal! Heck, wouldn’t that jar you?” “Well, I’m glad we know what’s wrong,” said Clif thankfully. “To-morrow――” “To-morrow! Say, I’ve got to see ‘Cocky’!” Tom jumped for the door. “Loring, you win the spun glass crow-bar, old son! See you later!” Then the door slammed. Three minutes later Tom was enlightening a surprised, relieved and somewhat chagrined “Cocky.” But after several minutes of explanations and questions and comments the coach suddenly looked puzzled. “But look here, Kemble. An hour ago you didn’t know any more than I did. How does it happen you come along now and――” “Loring Deane,” said Tom. “Let me tell you about him, sir.” So Tom told, ending with: “Two or three things I spoke to you about weren’t my ideas at all. They were his. I wasn’t trying to swipe the credit for them, Mr. Babcock, but I thought you’d think I was sort of crazy if I told you about Loring. Heck, I only did it because the poor guy wanted to get in on football. He’s a regular nut, sir. Then, blamed if he didn’t come across with two or three good ideas, like the one about playing Bingham close in on forward-passes to the right, and it just seemed easier to let you think that they were brain-waves of my own than explain.” “I see. Well, it looks to me, Kemble, as though it would be a rather brilliant idea to encourage Deane. Guess we’d better attach him to our ‘coaching staff,’” Mr. Babcock added laughingly. “I wish he would let you see some of the plays he’s planned. Some of them look pretty good to me, but I’m not much of a hand at diagrams.” “I’d like to see them, of course,” replied Mr. Babcock, not very enthusiastically. “Bring them along some evening.” “I spoke about that, sir, but he didn’t seem keen for it. He’s got a forward-pass play, with an end throwing, that looks sort of good, and I was wondering if we couldn’t try it out, Mr. Babcock. There’s a lot of us who would like mighty well to beat Minster High next Saturday. And then, of course, we’ve _got_ to lick that Wolcott Scrub!” “I’ll drop in on Deane to-morrow and get him to show me what he’s got. I’d like to make his acquaintance, too. Oh, by the way, Kemble, there’s something I meant to speak of when you were in here before. How are you getting on in classes?” “Me, sir? Well, I’m all right, I guess. Of course, I’m not what you could call a shining example right now, Mr. Babcock, but as soon as football’s over I’ll be sitting pretty.”