"A--a little," stammered Dale, dazed by the absence of what he had so fully expected in the other's manner. "What position?" "Er--tackle, and--and half-back--sometimes." "You ought to be a pretty good back if you've got speed," mused the older chap, his glance appreciatively taking in the boy's sturdy build and good shoulders. "The season's well along and the team's made up, but we need more weight. Troop One's the only team we're afraid of, but we've simply got to lick them and nab the pennant. I'll try you out this afternoon. Practice at three-thirty sharp in the field back of my place. We'll go right over from school. You go this way, don't you?" The throng at the corner had broken up, and the two were practically alone. Dale nodded and mechanically fell into step. He had been steeling himself for something so very different that in a second his defenses were swept entirely away. Ward's perfect assurance of his readiness to play made even hesitation seem the action of a selfish cad unwilling to do his best for his troop. Besides, Dale did not want to refuse--now. "How is it you never thought of being a scout before?" asked Ward, as they cut across corners toward Main Street. "Wasn't there any troop where you came from?" Dale shook his head. "No; and after we got here Father--didn't want me to join. He--he didn't seem to understand about it, and so--" He paused; Ward nodded comprehendingly. "Sometimes they don't," he said. "Well, it's all right now. You're in, and you don't look like a chap who'd stay a tenderfoot long, especially with a scoutmaster like Mr. Curtis. He's a corker, all right, and does everything to help a fellow along. I shouldn't wonder if you'd be ready for second-class exams as soon as the month is up." Dale's eyes brightened. "I'll certainly try 'em, anyhow. I can pass a lot of the tests now, I think, and I'm going to bone up on the others hard." "That's the boy!" smiled Sherman. "If I can help you in anything, let me know. Well, this is my corner. So long. Don't forget practice at three-thirty sharp." With a wave of his hand he turned down Main Street, leaving Dale to stare after him for a moment or two, an odd expression on his freckled face. "Why, he's--he's not a bit what I-- He's just like--" He ended with a deep-drawn breath and turned homeward, head high and shoulders squared. Somehow the blue of the sky seemed suddenly deeper, the sunshine brighter than it had been before. The crisp, clean autumn air had a tang in it he had not noticed until this moment. He drew it into his lungs in great gulps, and his eyes sparkled. "The pants'll do," he murmured to himself; "so will the jersey. I haven't any decent shoes, but I've played in sneakers before. And there'll be time to deliver the papers after five." CHAPTER IV ON THE GRIDIRON