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Then those who had not already been in the line-up were given the gridiron, and the varsity and second were sent for a trot four times around the field, the watchful eye of "Baldy" Simson, Erskine's veteran trainer, keeping them under surveillance until they had completed their task and had trailed out the gate toward the locker-house, baths, and rub-downs.
See any signs of worry?" "No, not that I recall. I thought he appeared to be feeling very cheerful. I know we laughed a good deal over over something." "That's all right, then," answered the coach as they turned in through the gate and approached the locker-house. "I had begun to think that perhaps he had something on his mind that troubled him. He seemed a bit listless yesterday at practise.
The lines broke up and the two teams trotted away. The score-board proclaimed: Erskine 0, Opponents 6. Neil trotted along at the tail-end of the procession of substitutes, so deep in thought that he passed through the gate without knowing it, and only came to himself when he stumbled up the locker-house steps. He barked his shins and reached a conclusion at the same instant.
"He's made up his mind to put me off." A minute later the half ended. When the next one began Paul Gale went in at left half-back on the varsity. And Neil, trotting to the locker-house, told himself that he was glad, awfully glad, and wished the tears wouldn't come into his eyes. Neil was duly pronounced "fine" by the trainer, dosed by the doctor, and disregarded by the coaches.
"No, I haven't much flesh about me," panted Neil; "but I'm glad this is the last time around, just the same!" After their baths in the little green-roofed locker-house the two walked back to the yard together, Paul, as Neil saw, being in close companionship with a big youth whose name, according to Foster, was Tom Cowan. "He played right-guard last year," said Foster.
When he regained consciousness he was being borne from the field between four of his fellows. At the locker-house the injured shoulder was laid bare, and the doctor went to work. The pain had subsided, and only a queer soreness remained. Neil watched operations with interest, his face fast regaining its color. "Nothing much, is it?" he asked. "Not a great deal.
In the locker-house after the game Mills had some sharp things to say, and didn't hesitate to say them in his best manner. There was absolutely no favoritism shown; he began at one end of the line and went to the other, then dropped back to left half, took in quarter on the way, and ended up with full.
"If the sophs can stick things around why can't we?" "You'd better ask the Dean," suggested Neil. "Hello, who's that chap?" They had entered the grounds and were standing on the steps of the locker-house. The person to whom Neil referred was just coming through the gate. He was a medium-sized man of about thirty years, with a good-looking, albeit very freckled face, and a good deal of sandy hair.
After practise was ended and the riotous half-hour in the locker-house was over, Neil found himself walking back to the campus with Sydney and Paul. Paul entertained a half-contemptuous liking for Sydney.
For the rest of the half the home team was satisfied to keep Woodby away from its goal, and made no effort to score. Woodby left the field after the fashion of victors, which, practically, they were, while the Erskine players trotted subduedly back to the locker-house with unpleasant anticipations of what was before them anticipations fully justified by subsequent events.
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