Jim kept his promise; in fact, he was given no choice in the matter, for Poke was waiting for him on the steps of Academy Hall when he emerged from his algebra recitation the next afternoon. Jeffrey had agreed to accompany them to the field, but as he didn’t show up they started along without him. It was Jim’s first visit to the field, although he had often viewed it from afar. Their way took them past the front of Memorial Hall, a small building of Grecian architecture presented to the school by graduates in honor of four Croftonians who had lost their lives in the war with Spain. Crofton was proud of those men and the bronze tablet beside the doorway was one of the first objects exhibited to visitors. The building held the dining-hall and kitchen, and if some humorists alluded to it as Prunorial Hall no disrespect was intended.

The river, a few rods away, was alive with craft this afternoon, for this early October day was warm and still, with just enough hint of autumn in the air to make the blood course quickly and put the joy of adventure in the heart. Half way between Memorial and the gymnasium the two boys turned at the sound of a hail from the river. In a canoe sat Jeffrey and Gil, the latter snuggled comfortably in the bow and the former dexterously dipping the paddle in the stern. Gil waved his hand nonchalantly.

“Where are you going?” cried Poke enviously. “Do you know what time it is?”

“I am the Queen of Sheba,” replied Gil, “and this is my royal barge. We are on the way to the gym.”

“Well, of all the lazy Its!” exclaimed Poke. “Say, Senator, take me back after practice?”

Gil howled derisively. “Get out! I’ve engaged Jeff for the rest of the day. Proceed, slave!”

Jeffrey, smiling broadly, dipped his paddle again and the canoe went on along the stream to the swimming float. The others walked down to meet them.

“We’ve had a dandy ride,” said Gil as he stretched the kinks out of his legs. “Jeff took me all the way up to Birch Island and back. He’s a fine little canoedler.” Jeff, once more with his crutches under his arms, fell in beside Jim.

“I think I’ll get a canoe of my own,” he said. “They say there’s a fellow up the river a couple of miles who makes dandy ones. And I’m sort of daffy about being on the water.”

“Is it hard to learn to paddle one of those things?” Jim asked. “I tried it once and the silly thing just went around in a circle and made me dizzy.”

“It’s the easiest thing there is,” laughed Jeffrey. “You come out with me some day and I’ll show you the trick in a minute.”

Gil and Poke disappeared in the gym to don their football clothes and the others sauntered slowly toward the field. Already the big expanse of yellowing turf was scattered with players. Beyond the gridiron with its new white lines a baseball game had begun. Nearer at hand the tennis courts were all occupied. And on the grand-stand and along the sides of the field on the warm grass fellows less inclined to bodily exertion sat or sprawled in groups and waited to be entertained. Half a dozen pigskins were arching back and forth across the gridiron or bounding erratically into the spectators. Jim and Jeff found a place near the twenty-five-yard line and settled themselves, Jeff laying his crutches down with a sigh of relief.

“This is fine,” he murmured as he lay back with his hands beneath his head and blinked at the sunlight. “I read somewhere once, Jim, that every one has the—the characteristics of some animal. I guess I’m like a cat, I’m so fond of sunlight and warmth. I could almost purr this minute.”

“Go ahead,” Jim laughed. “I don’t mind as long as you don’t scratch. There comes What’s-his-name, the coach.”

“Connell,” murmured Jeffrey. “They say he’s a dandy.”

“He isn’t very big,” replied Jim doubtfully. “He doesn’t look much taller than I. Guess he’s the sort to make you stand around, though; don’t believe he’d take much nonsense. There’s Gil and Duncan Sargent. And there’s that chap Gary, the fellow who wanted your room. He’s pretty hefty, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” Jeffrey rolled over and observed the scene, supported on one elbow. “I heard a fellow say Gary had a grouch against Connell and isn’t half playing.”

“Johnny” shouted to the candidates and they came from all quarters of the field and flocked about him. There seemed to be some fifty or sixty of them altogether.

“A lot of show I’d have,” said Jim, “in that bunch. Some of those chaps must be nineteen years old.”

“I dare say,” Jeffrey replied. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean much. You are going to try, aren’t you?”

Jim shrugged his shoulders. “I’d sort of like to,” he acknowledged, “but I’d just make a show of myself, I guess.”

The coach had finished his instructions and now the candidates were forming in groups about the field. For the beginners football was still drudgery; passing, falling on the ball, starting and tackling. But the veterans were learning signals and getting ready for the first game now only three days distant. The first and second squads were soon scampering up and down the field in short rushes under the directions of shrill-voiced quarter-backs. In Squad A a substitute had Duncan Sargent’s place at left guard and the captain, draped in a faded red blanket that trailed behind him and tried to trip him up in moments of excitement, followed the play. Now and then Jim could hear him calling a halt and laying down the law.

“Hold on! Let’s try that again. And don’t go to sleep, Smith, this time. They’d have got you about three yards behind your line then. Take your time from quarter. This is a delayed pass, but not a misplaced one. And now try again. Same signals, Arnold.”

On this first squad Gil was at left end, Poke at right half-back and Gary at right guard. To Jim’s surprise the fellows were not very heavy in weight, while as to age the squad would have averaged about seventeen. The quarter, Harry Arnold, was a mere youngster, and with the exception of Captain Sargent himself there was no member over eighteen. LaGrange, a big good-natured youth who played center, was but sixteen, in spite of his size.

Jim and Jeffrey looked on with interest. Jeffrey, who had made other trips to the field, knew many of the more prominent players by name and pointed them out to his companion. At the end of half an hour the signal work ceased, the linemen were taken to the upper end of the field for special instruction and the backs and ends were put to work getting down under kicks. As it happened Poke took up his position at a little distance from Jim and Jeffrey, and, turning to run back for a long catch, caught sight of them.

“Hello!” he shouted. “Seen Sargent, Jim?”

Jim shook his head. Poke curled the ball against his arm and hurled it back across the field.

“Well, he’s looking for you. I told him you wanted to come out for the team. Told him you were a wonderful footballist, Jim, and he’s hot on your trail.”

“You told him that?” cried Jim in dismay. “Why, you—you—”

“Say it,” said Poke, keeping a watchful eye across the field at where a substitute center was poising the ball between his legs. Jim grinned ruefully and threw a pebble at him.

“But you didn’t tell him any such yarn as that, did you, Poke?” he asked.

“I told him you were thinking of coming out, Jim, and that you’d played the game some. Said you looked good to me. When he asks you just keep your mouth shut tight and it will be all right.”

With that Poke sprinted for the arching pigskin, caught it deftly without slackening his speed and dodged the opposing end.

“Do you suppose he did tell Sargent all that?” Jim said.

“I dare say,” replied Jeffrey with a smile. “Poke is likely to say most anything he thinks of. I guess you’ll soon know, though, for there’s Sargent now.”

The captain, having discarded his blanket, was striding across the field toward Poke. They exchanged a few words and Poke nodded his head toward Jim and Jeffrey. In a moment Duncan Sargent had reached them.

“How are you, Hazard?” he began. “Endicott tells me you’ve decided to help us out, and I’m mighty glad to hear it. We really want fellows who know something about the game and are willing to buckle down to it. Wish you might have come out to-day. To-morrow sure, though, eh?”

Jim, who had climbed to his feet, looked somewhat embarrassed.

“Why—er—I only told Endicott that I might like to try—”

“Of course! That’s the spirit! You’ve played a good bit, haven’t you?”

“No, not much,” answered Jim modestly. “I really don’t—”

“In the line, I suppose?”

“Well, yes, when I played, but I never—”

“Fine! We need linemen, Hazard. You report to me to-morrow and I’ll put you to work. There’s going to be a cut in a day or two and then we’ll have some of these dubs out of the way. Don’t forget! Three-thirty!”

And away hurried Sargent, leaving Jim flushed and uncomfortable and Jeffrey visibly amused.

“Now what shall I do?” asked Jim ruefully. “He evidently thinks I’m a regular Hogan of a lineman. I wonder what Poke did tell him! Why, hang it, Jeff, I don’t even know this year’s rules!”

“Oh, they aren’t much different from last year,” replied Jeffrey consolingly.

“Yes, they are; they’re different every season. Every time any one thinks of a new wrinkle he writes to the Rules Committee about it and they stick it in. Well, you won’t see me around here to-morrow! It’s me for the tall timber!”

“Oh, shucks, Jim, see it through. You can tell Sargent you aren’t a star—”

“Tell him! Why, didn’t I try to tell him?” exclaimed Jim irritably. “He wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise.”

“He was afraid you would try to beg off,” laughed Jeffrey.

“He didn’t give me a chance,” replied Jim ruefully. “Guess I’ll just have to hike out to the woods or he will get me sure.”

“I don’t think I’d do that. See it through. You’ll like it after you get started. Why, the first game’s on Saturday. Maybe Sargent will put you in in his place, Jim!”

“Dry up. They’re going to scrimmage. Let’s get nearer the middle of the field.”

The scrimmage wasn’t very encouraging that day. There was a good deal more fumbling than there should have been and it was plain to be seen that neither first nor second team had thoroughly learned its signals. When it was over Jim and Jeff cut across the field and took the road back to Sunnywood.

“I wonder,” mused Jim as they passed the little white house where Plato Society held its meetings, “if being on the football team would help a fellow to make a society.”

“Well,” answered Jeffrey, “I suppose a fellow who is well known and has done something for the school like playing football or baseball or rowing in the boat naturally stands a better show than some chap who is unknown.”

He shot a glance at Jim’s thoughtful face and smiled to himself. A hundred yards further on Jim spoke again.

“I wonder,” he said, “if Gil or Poke has a book of rules.”

When Poke came back he sought Jim and found him in the cellar swinging the ax.

“Hello,” he said, “what are you doing?”

“Kindlings,” replied Jim as he dodged a piece of wood. Then he buried the ax in the block and faced Poke.

“Look here,” he demanded, “what did you tell Duncan Sargent about me?”

Poke laughed. “Why?” he asked.

“Because he evidently thinks I’m a football player and he wouldn’t give me a chance to say anything at all; just rattled on and on and fixed it all up that I’m to report for practice to-morrow.”

“Did he? Well, I told you you’d be a gone coon if you once got out on the field.”

“What did you tell him?” Jim insisted sternly.

“Oh, just that you’d played the game and that I had an idea you’d be a big addition to the team. It wasn’t what I really said so much as the—the impression I managed to convey, Jim. One thing I rather dwelt on,” he continued with a chuckle, “was that you were terribly modest and that you were almost certain to refuse to come out for the team if he gave you a chance.”

“I see. Well”—Jim shrugged his shoulders—“he will be considerably surprised to-morrow.”

“Pshaw, that will be all right. You’ll pick it up quick enough, and before the season’s over you’ll be thanking me on your knees for my—er—diplomacy.”

“Your fibs, you mean! Look here, Poke, I don’t even know what the rules are this year.”

“No more does any one—except Johnny; and I sometimes think he’s just bluffing. You come up to the room after supper and Gil and I will tell you all you need to know. Between us I dare say we’ve got a fair inkling of the rules.”

“All right,” Jim agreed. “But I’m going to see Sargent to-morrow before practice and tell him the facts. I’m not going to start out under false colors.”

“Hm.” Poke considered that a moment. “Oh, all right. The main thing is to come out. Got any togs?”

“Yes, some old ones. I guess they’ll do. Guess they’ll have to. I can’t afford to buy new ones.”

“Good stuff! Get ’em out and we’ll look ’em over. Here, I’ll take that up for you. You bring the coal. You know we all agreed to help out with the chores if you went in for the team.”