"Well, Dink, this is a little different--you can't play football on nothing but nerve." "You can if you've got enough of it," said Stover, all in a breath. "Please, sir, give me a chance. You can fire me if I'm no good. I only want to be useful. You've got to have a lot of fellows to stand the banging and you can bang me around all day. I do know something about it, sir; I've practiced tackling and falling on the ball all summer, and I'm hard as nails. Just give me a chance, will you? Just one chance, sir." Cockrell looked at Mr. Ware, whose eye showed the battling spark as he nodded. "Here, Dink," he said gruffly, "I can't be wasting any more time over you. I told you to go back to the House team, didn't I?" Stover, with a lump in his throat, nodded the answer he could not utter. "Well, I've changed my mind. Get over there in the squad." The revulsion of feeling was so sudden that tears came into Stover's eyes. "You're really going to let me stay?" "Get over there, you little nuisance!" Dink went a few steps, and then stopped and tightened his shoelaces a long minute. "Too bad the little devil is so light," said Cockrell to Mr. Ware. "Best player I ever played against had no right on a football field." "But one hundred and thirty-five!" "Yes, that's pretty light." "What the deuce were you chinning so long about?" said Cheyenne Baxter to Dink, as he came joyfully into the squad. "Captain wanted just a bit of general expert advice from me," said Dink defiantly. "I've promised to help out." The squad, dividing, practiced starts. Stover held his own, being naturally quick; and though Flash Condit and Charlie DeSoto distanced him, still he earned a good word for his performances. Presently Mr. Ware came up with a ball and, with a few words of introduction, started them to falling on it as it bounded grotesquely over the ground, calling them from the ranks by name. "Hard at it, Stevens." "Dive at it." "Don't stop till you get it." "Oh, squeeze the ball!" Stover, moving up, caught the eye of Mr. Ware intently on him, and rose on his toes with the muscles in his arms strained and eager. "Now, Stover, hard!" The ball with just an extra impetus left the hand of Mr. Ware. Stover went at it like a terrier, dove and came up glorious and muddy with the pigskin hugged in his arms. It was the extent of his football knowledge, but that branch he had mastered on the soft summer turf. Mr. Ware gave a grunt of approval and sent him plunging after another. This time as he dove the ball took a tricky bounce and slipped through his arms. Quick as a flash Dink, rolling over, recovered himself and flung himself on it. "That's the way!" said Mr. Ware. "Follow it up. Can't always get it the first time. Come on, Baxter."