Left Tackle Thayer | Page 7

although probably not well enough to stand much of a chance here.
"Oh, you can't tell," replied Freer encouragingly. "Come out for practice tomorrow and see. We're got a coach here that can do wonders with beginners."
"Of course I mean to try," said Clint. "I reckon you wear togs, don't you, when you report?"
"Yes, come dressed to play. You'll get a workout for a week or so, anyway. Three-thirty is the time. You won't feel lonesome. We've got more fellows here this year than we ever had and I guess there'll be a gang of new candidates. Got a lot of last year's 'varsity players left, too, and we ought to be able to turn out a pretty fair team."
"Where does Captain Innes play?" Clint asked
"Centre, and he's a peach. Marvin, over there, is first-string quarter this year. Edwards will be one of our ends and Hall will have right guard cinched, I think."
"And where do you play?" Clint inquired.
"Half, when I play," laughed the other. "I'm going to make a good fight for it this year. How'd you know I did play, though?"
"I--just thought so," said Clint. "You sort of look it, you know."
That seemed to please Freer. "Well, I've been at it three years," he said, "and this is my last chance."
"I hope you make it."
"Thanks. Same to you! Well, I must get along."
The gathering was breaking up. Most of the fellows were careful to bid Clint good night as they went and several told him to get Amy to bring him around to see them. Captain Innes crowded his way through the confusion of visitors and furniture and sought Clint where he stood aside in the corner.
"I believe you play football, Thayer?" he said inquiringly.
"Yes, some."
"Well, you're modest, anyway," the big centre laughed. "Don't overdo it, though; it doesn't pay. What's your position?"
"I played tackle at home."
"Well, you come out tomorrow and show your goods, Thayer. We need all the talent we can get. Hope to see you do splendidly. Good night. Awfully glad to have met you. Good night, Amy. Hope those socks will come out all right."
"They'll never be the same," replied Amy sadly. "Their pristine splendour--"
"Get out of here, Amy! You remind me unpleasantly of tomorrow's English and the fact that I haven't looked at it yet!" And Freer, who was a rather husky youth, pushed Amy into the corridor without ceremony.
On the way back to Torrence Clint asked curiously: "How do you suppose Innes knew I played, Amy?"
"Oh, he's a discerning brute," responded the other carelessly.
"But he said he believed I did. That sounds as if someone had told him. Did you?"
"Well," replied the other hesitantly, "now that you mention it, summon it, as it were, to my attention, or, should I say, force it on my notice; or, perhaps, arouse my slumbering memory--"
"Meaning you did?"
"I might have."
"When?"
"'S afternoon. We met by chance. Casually I mentioned the fact that you were probably one of the niftiest little linemen that ever broke through the--er--stubborn defence of a desperate enemy--"
"You idiot!"
"And that, if properly encouraged, you would very likely be willing to lend your helpful assistance to the Dear Old Team. And he said: 'Bless you, Amy, for them glad tidings. All is not lost, With Clint Thayer to help us, victory may once more perch upon our pennant!' Or maybe it was 'banner.'"
"Honest, Amy," pleaded Clint, "what did you say?"
"Only that you were rooming with me and that I'd heard you say you, played and that I meant to bring you around to see him this evening."
"And he said?"
"He said 'Of course, bring him along.'"
"Oh," murmured Clint
"Just the remark I was about to make," declared Amy.

CHAPTER III
AMY AIRS HIS VIEWS
Clint settled down into his appointed niche at Brimfield, one of one hundred and seventy-two individuals of various ages between twelve and twenty. At Brimfield there were six forms, and Clint had, after a brief examination, been assigned to the fourth. He found that he was well up with the class in everything save Greek and Latin, and these, Greek especially, soon proved hard sledding. The instructor, Mr. Simkins--or "Uncle Sim," as he was called--was no easy taskmaster. He entertained a profound reverence for Aristotle and Vergil and Cicero and Homer and all the others, and failed to understand why his classes thought them tiresome and, sometimes, dry. His very enthusiasm, however, made him easy to impose on, and many a fellow received good marks merely because he simulated a fervid interest. But Clint was either too honest or possessed too little histrionic talent to attempt that plan, and by the time the Fall term was a week old, he, together with many another, was just barely keeping his head above water. He confessed discouragement to his room-mate one evening. Amy was sympathetic but scarcely helpful.
"It's