“Well, that doesn’t matter,” replied Farrar. “I mean that we fellows earned the money at baseball and football and things. And I dare say I earned as much of it as you did, Cotner.” “Which is none at all,” answered George calmly. “You fellows are making a heap of noise about nothing, if you only knew it.” “How is that?” asked Sears. “We’ve found a coach,” replied the manager coolly. Exclamations of surprise and curiosity came from the gathering. “Who is he?” “Where’d we get him?” “Who said so?” “Bet you’re fooling, George!” “Not at liberty to tell you just yet,” replied Cotner, enjoying the sensation. “In fact, the matter is not absolutely settled――――” “Thought so! Knew you were lying!” “――But it will be this afternoon. Then you’ll hear all about it.” “Where’s he come from?” demanded Morris. George hesitated, and then, “Right here,” he answered. “Clearfield? Do we know him?” “Yes.” “Is he a graduate?” “No.” “Then it’s Mr. Cochran, of the Y.M.C.A.” “Get out!” said Morris. “He wouldn’t leave a job like the one he’s got to coach us.” “He could do it without giving up his job, couldn’t he? Isn’t it Cochran, George?” “It is――not.” “Then who――――” “I told you I couldn’t tell you, didn’t I? So don’t ask. You’ll know this afternoon――or to-morrow.” “I’ll bet he’s a frost, whoever he is,” Morris Brent grumbled. “Who found him? Lanny?” “Er――no, not exactly.” George Cotner smiled. “I don’t know who found him, exactly, although I think I was the first one to suggest him. Oh, you’ll be surprised all right, fellows!” He chuckled at the bewildered expressions on the faces of the others. “I’ll tell you one thing, though, just to keep you interested; he’s never played a game of football in his life!” A howl of derision went up. “Now we know you’re lying, George!” declared Sears. “Maybe it’s Mr. Grayson,” sneered Bingham, and a laugh went up at that and the gathering broke up in better humor as the gong summoned them back to work. As a matter of fact, the school at large did not learn the identity of the new coach that afternoon, for at nine o’clock that evening the candidate for the honor was still holding off. He sat in the little parlor of his home on E Street, a pair of crutches beside him, and listened doubtfully to the insistence of Lanny White, George Cotner and Gordon Merrick.