As it happened, an unusually large number of fellows had accompanied the team that day, and in consequence a great many disappointed and disgruntled youths returned to Warne and a late supper and recited discouraging stories of the contest. Those who had remained at home shrugged their shoulders and said: “Well, what did you go for? You might have known!”

Fred Lyons was too downcast to make an effort to put a good face on the matter. As for Coach Driscoll, it was hard to say what his feelings were, for he looked and acted the same in success or failure. De Wolf Lowell, the manager, declared that Driscoll was beastly unsatisfactory, since he “always looked untroubled and you never could tell whether he wanted to kiss you or kick you!” The defeat could not have come at a more inopportune time, for the Leader, which appeared on Fridays, held that week an appeal for funds for the football team. It was a well-worded appeal, signed by the four class presidents and Manager Lowell, but it failed of its purpose very largely. In the course of the next week or so enough small contributions materialised to enable the team to struggle along for the moment, but the amount donated was only a drop in the bucket when viewed with the season’s expenses in mind.

There was a consultation Sunday evening in Coach Driscoll’s room attended by coach, captain and manager. The coach’s attitude was one of polite indifference when the matter of finances was reached. “It isn’t in my province,” he explained calmly. “That may sound heartless, fellows, but if I have to worry about money I can’t give the undivided attention to my real business that it requires. I’m here to turn out a good team, and I mean to do it if it’s any way possible. I can’t do it if my mind is disturbed by questions of receipts and expenditures. Whatever you decide I’ll agree to, and I’ll do anything in reason to carry the play through, but you mustn’t look to me for schemes.”

“If we don’t get some money,” said Lowell dismally, “there won’t be any use for a team.”

“That’s up to you,” replied the coach, smiling.

Lowell looked doubtfully at Fred, and the latter nodded agreement. “The coach is right, old man. It isn’t his funeral. We’ve got to find a way out ourselves.”

“Then, for the love of lemons, let’s get something started,” said Lowell impatiently. “Canvas the school, go through it with a fine-tooth comb. There’s no other way. If we called a meeting it would end in a farce.”

“I don’t think so,” said Fred. “We’d have the class leaders with us and a good many others. We could get them on the platform and have them speak. Whatever we do, though, we must wait until we’ve won a game.”

“That’s all very well, but suppose, we lose again Saturday!”

“We won’t,” replied Fred confidently. “We can beat High School without trouble. The only thing is that it won’t be much of a victory when we get it! I wish it was Musket Hill next Saturday instead of High School.”

“We can’t wait much longer,” protested the manager. “We need coin, Fred. We owe so many bills now that I’m ashamed to walk through town! Hang it, the money’s here. Why can’t we get hold of it? If it was the baseball team that needed it the fellows would fall all over themselves passing it out!”

“We’re not popular,” said Fred, with a grimace.

Coach Driscoll, who had listened tranquilly to the discussion, took his pipe from his mouth and viewed it thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t count too much on a win next week,” he said. “I’m planning to use a good many second-string fellows Saturday.” The pipe went back again and he viewed Fred untroubledly.

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Lowell. “That’ll never do, Coach!”

“Is it necessary?” asked Fred dubiously.

The coach nodded. “Very,” he answered. “The subs have got to taste blood if they’re going to be any use. Just putting them in for a few minutes at the end of a game doesn’t do much good. I want to start with practically a substitute line-up Saturday; Bradford, French, Buffum, Conlon maybe, and so on. You can start if you like and Dannis had better run them: and we’ll keep Wirt in the backfield. I don’t say that we won’t win even with that bunch. I don’t know much about the High School team. But I wouldn’t consider it a foregone conclusion, fellows.”

“That means waiting another week,” said Lowell disgustedly.

“No, we’ll go ahead whatever happens,” said Fred. “Look here, we’ll start things up tomorrow. Call a mass meeting for next Saturday night in the auditorium. I’ll see Knowles and Hodges. You get after Sterner and young Lane. Tell them we’ll want them to sign the notices and to say something at the meeting. Who else can we count on?”

“You’ll speak; and Mr. Driscoll?” Lowell looked inquiringly across at the coach and the latter nodded. “And I will, too, if you want me to. Perhaps I’d better. I can tell them facts, give them figures and so on. How about Gene? He’s Track Captain. Wouldn’t he count?”

“Gene can’t talk much,” replied Fred. “I mean he isn’t much of a speaker in public. Still, he will do his best if we ask him. I wish we knew of someone who really had the gift of the gab, someone who could get them started.”

“How about you, coach?” asked Lowell.

But Mr. Driscoll shook his head. “I’m no spellbinder,” he replied. “I’ll talk, but don’t expect eloquence, Lowell.”

“Well, we’ll just do the best we can,” said Fred. “What time can you come around tomorrow? We’ll have to draw up some notices to post and another to put in the Leader.”

“I’ll see my men in the morning and meet you at your room at half-past one,” answered Lowell. “I’m glad we’re going to get something started at last. I’m getting white-headed over it!”

“Through?” asked Mr. Driscoll. The others nodded. “Then let’s take up another subject.” He reached to the table and lifted a notebook to him. “We’ve got forty-odd men out now and we don’t want them all much longer. I think we’d better make a final cut a week from Monday. We can tell how some of the green ones size up in the High School game. I wish I’d asked Billy Goode to come around here tonight. He’s got dope on some of these chaps that I don’t know.”

“How many shall we keep?” asked Fred.

“Twenty-eight or thirty are enough. Run your eye over that list and see how it strikes you. I’ve crossed the names I mean to drop.”

“Sumner?” asked Fred doubtfully as he went down the list.

“Don’t need him. We’ve got five half-backs without him. He will be better next year, but he isn’t ’varsity material yet.”

Fred nodded and went on. Presently: “Rowland?” he questioned.

“Y-yes,” answered the coach hesitantly. “I wasn’t certain about him, though. If I were certain Crane would keep coming I’d drop Rowland, but Crane’s pretty poor sometimes. What do you think?”

“I’d keep him,” said Fred. “Rowland’s a mighty steady player, and considering that he didn’t know a football from a ham sandwich three weeks ago I think he’s done remarkably.”

“Yes, he has. I only questioned him because we don’t want a lot of deadwood around. Cross him off, Lyons. If Donovan doesn’t come around we may need him.”

“Al? Isn’t he going to? I thought he was coming back tomorrow.”

“So he is, as far as I know, but a fellow who gets hurt once is twice as likely to get it again. I’m always leery of them after they once come a cropper. I’ve seen it happen so often. We’ll keep Rowland and be on the safe side. The boy is a worker and would make a corking guard if he put his mind on his work. The trouble with him is that he acts as if he was attending a tea-fight instead of football practice!”

Fred laughed. “He’s too good-natured, I guess.”

“It doesn’t do to be too good-natured in football,” replied the coach drily. “But I don’t think it’s that so much, as it is that he doesn’t take it seriously. I watched him the other day in practice and he smiled the whole time!”

Fred handed the list back. “The others are all right, I think,” he said. “Maybe we’ll want to make changes after Saturday’s game, though. Is there anything more tonight, coach?”

“Not a thing. You fellows go ahead with your meeting and try to make a hit with it. Let Lowell attend to as much of it as he can. That’s his business, I guess. If you get it on your mind too much you will be falling off in your play. And we don’t want that. Save him all you can, Lowell. We may need him.”

Beginning on Monday, Ira’s services were constantly in demand. Donovan returned to his position at left guard on the first team, but he was used very carefully and most of the time Tom Buffum had his place. That brought Ira into the substitute squad and he and Crane alternated opposite to Buffum, or, in the usual scrimmage, against Johns after Donovan and Buffum had had their chances. Ira played hard and fast and used his head, but in the final analysis there was something lacking, and not even Coach Driscoll could put his finger on that something. One day he called Ira to him on the side line and questioned him.

“Well, what do you think of it, Rowland?” he asked pleasantly.

“Of what, sir?”

“Football work. Find it interesting?”

“Oh, yes, sir, quite. I like it better than I expected to. But I’m still pretty green at it, I guess.”

“Why, I don’t know,” replied the coach slowly. “You’ve come pretty fast for a beginner. Do you feel yourself that you’re still green?”

“Well, I—realise that I don’t know as much about the game as I should. The other fellows seem to always know just what to do. I sort of—sort of blunder along, I guess.”

“What is it you think you don’t know?” asked the coach.

“I can’t say exactly. I suppose it’s lack of experience that I mean. There’s so much more in it than I realised, sir; in the game, I mean.”

“Yes, there’s a lot in it, but all you need to know is how to play the guard position, Rowland. Don’t worry yourself too much about the game as a whole. Play your own position as well as you can and leave the rest to the others. Which of the fellows are you most afraid of?”

“Oh, I’m not afraid of any of them,” replied Ira placidly.

“I didn’t mean it just that way,” corrected the coach, hiding a smile. “I meant which one do you find it hardest to play against?”

“Johns,” was the prompt reply.

“Johns?” The coach’s voice contained surprise. “But Johns isn’t the player that Buffum is.”

“No, I guess not, sir, but Johns—well, I don’t know; I think he plays harder than Buffum.”

The coach looked mystified. “Harder, eh? Look here, isn’t it just that you yourself don’t play as hard against Johns as you do against Buffum or Donovan? Maybe Johns has got you scared.”

“It might be that,” answered Ira. “Anyway, I’d rather tackle Johns.”

“But you just said you found him harder!”

“That’s the reason, I guess,” laughed Ira.

“Hm. Well, you go in there now and see what you can do to Johns. Hold on! Wait till the play’s over. Just forget that Johns is Johns and see if you can’t put it over on him, Rowland.”

But Ira didn’t put it over on Johns. For the ensuing ten or twelve minutes they played each other to a standstill and neither could have fairly claimed supremacy. Coach Driscoll, watching at intervals from the side line—he had a way of absenting himself from the field for long periods before jumping in and reading the riot-act—frowned in puzzlement. “I wonder,” he muttered once, “what the result would be if Johns handed him a jolt under the chin! What that boy needs is to get warmed up to his work. He’s too calm!”

The announcement of the mass meeting appeared on the different bulletin boards on Tuesday and occasioned plenty of interest but small enthusiasm. “‘Football Mass Meeting,’ eh?” Ira heard one fellow remark in front of the board in Parkinson. “Suppose they want us to shell out. Not for mine, thank you. Let them win a game once.”

“Oh, a dollar won’t hurt us,” observed his companion carelessly. “I guess they’re pretty hard up.”

“I paid perfectly good money for a season ticket,” answered the first speaker, “and that’s enough. I haven’t had my money’s worth so far and don’t expect to. They’ll have to tie me and take it away by force if they get any dollar from me!”

“Where’s your patriotism?” jeered the other. “You’re a nice piker, you are!”

“Patriotism be blowed! Where’s their football team, if it comes to that? Why should I give good money to support a bunch of losers and quitters?”

“Oh, pshaw, if they’ll beat Kenwood I don’t care how many games they lose.”

“If!” sneered his companion. “Well, they won’t. Not that bunch. I’d give them two dollars if they would.”

“They’d fall dead if you did,” laughed the other boy. “You never gave two dollars to anyone in your life, you tightwad!”

The second- and third-string players had the call all that week and on Thursday it became rumoured about that Coach Driscoll was to start the game with the Warne High School team with a substitute line-up and a deal of speculation ensued among the substitutes. Ira was interested, but not greatly. Buffum would play right guard, of course, and Brackett left. If substitutes were needed there were Tooker and Crane. He couldn’t conceive of getting into the battle save, perhaps, for a scant five minutes after the result had been determined. On Friday there was only signal work for the subs, but the first-string players and the second held scrimmage as usual. To his surprise, Ira was not called on when Donovan was released, Fuller, a third-string tackle, falling heir to the position, and, very naturally, playing it badly.

It was not until half-past two on Saturday that the line-up was given out. The squad was getting into togs in the locker-room of the gymnasium when Coach Driscoll arrived, a little earlier than usual, and proved the rumour correct.

“We’re going to make a cut next week,” he announced, “and some of you fellows are going to leave us. Which of you stay and which go depends largely on how you show up this afternoon. You’ll all have a chance to play before the game’s over. Any of you who want to keep on must show something. It’s your last chance. We’re going to beat High School and we’re going to do it with the subs.”

And then he read the line-up, and Ira’s surprise was considerable when he found himself slated in Brackett’s place at right guard. Of the regulars only Captain Lyons and Quarter-Back Dannis were to start.

“Don’t,” added the coach, “fool yourselves with the idea that if you get in trouble I’ll put the first-string men in to pull you out. It isn’t being done this season. You’ll win this game or lose it on your own merits. Now go ahead and show that you’re just as good as the regulars. Take them out, Captain Lyons!”

High School was already at work when the brown-stockinged players reached the field and the stands were filling with an audience that threatened to test their capacity, for High School had plenty of friends and admirers, many of them of the gentler sex. The light dresses of the girls, together with a multitude of red-and-blue pennants and arm-bands, made the scene unusually bright and colourful, and for the first time Ira felt something very much like stage fright. But there wasn’t much time to indulge it, for they were at once hustled out of blankets and sweaters and set to work at warming up, and almost before Ira had limbered his muscles decently a whistle called them back to the bench. And then, three minutes later, while High School cheered mightily, Fred Lyons kicked off.