Whether Mr. Hanks meant to profit by the advice so frankly given him remained a question for several days. On Friday his classes in Latin and history presented the usual disordered appearance and the instructor’s attitude remained the same. It seemed to Gil, however, that Mr. Hanks was a little quieter and a little less nervous than usual; that he was silently studying the situation. But Gil may only have imagined that. There were no actual outbreaks of disorder on Friday, although Brandon Gary and his crowd indulged to their hearts’ content in minor annoyances. Saturday Mr. Hanks had only classes in Latin and for almost the first time since his appearance at Crofton recitations went off quietly and in order, due to the fact that the first football game of the season was to be played that afternoon and every fellow in school was much too absorbed in that to have either time or inclination for mischief.

On Friday Jim had weathered another day of practice without results damaging to his reputation for skill and experience. He had signal practice with the third squad and by dint of maintaining an appearance of ease and doing what the others did as best he could he had managed to deceive even Johnny Connell. Johnny was puzzled however. He confided as much to Duncan Sargent.

“I don’t understand how he can handle himself as awkwardly as he does, Cap,” said Johnny. “He seems to know what to do all right, but he makes all sorts of false moves while he’s doing it.”

“He can play, though, can’t he?” asked Sargent, his mind only half on the subject.

“Yes, it looks so,” answered Johnny.

“Well, let’s see what we can do with him. If we take Curtis from the second squad we’ll need some one in his place who can put up a fight against Cosgrove. Think Hazard would fit in?”

“I guess so. He’s got the build and he’s strong as a colt—and just about as awkward. Of course, that may be because he hasn’t had much practice.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” murmured the captain. “What time is it? Can we start the scrimmage?”

On Saturday all Sunnywood went to the game, Gil and Poke to play, Jim to sit on the substitutes’ bench, Jeffrey, with Mrs. Hazard and Hope as his guests, to follow the play with the keenest enjoyment and to elucidate to his companions what everything meant. Crofton High School was not a dangerous opponent, although in the matter of practice she was a whole fortnight ahead of Crofton. Her work showed a finish that was quite absent from that of the home eleven and only the fact that her team was lighter and her plays old fashioned allowed Crofton to win the contest. At the end of the second period Crofton had a touchdown and a safety to her credit and High School had only once been dangerous. Then a try at goal from the twenty-five yards had gone badly astray. In the third period four substitutes went in for Crofton and there was no scoring by either team. The fourth period began for the Crimson-and-Gray with what was practically an entirely new eleven, only Tearney at right end and Poke at right half remaining in. The periods were ten minutes long and when only six minutes of the game remained Crofton High began to make headway through the Academy’s line and at last secured a second try at goal from the field. This time her kicker was successful from the thirty-two-yard line and High School chalked three points to her credit. It was after that feat, while the teams were resuming their places for the kick-off, that Johnny beckoned to Jim, who, sandwiched in between big Andy LaGrange, the first string center, and “Punk” Gibbs of the second, had been comfortably watching the progress of the conflict with no thought of participating. Jim stared unbelievingly until Johnny called him impatiently and Gibbs dug an unkind elbow against his ribs. Then Jim squirmed from the bench and struggled with his sweater.

“Go in for Curtis at left tackle,” said Johnny. “You know the signals, don’t you?”

Jim nodded, trying hard to recall one single thing about them!

“All right. Hurry up. Show me what you can do. And play low, Hazard!”

Jim sped out on to the gridiron, searching wildly for the referee, his heart thumping alarmingly as he realized that he was to take part in an actual contest. He found the official, sent Curtis off grumbling and took his place. Perhaps luckily for Jim he was not called on for any special feats of prowess during the short time that remained, for he was decidedly nervous. To his credit, however, it may be said that he broke through well and, on the defense, held his adversary fairly. There was no more scoring and just as Jim had regained his confidence and was beginning to enjoy the fray the final whistle was blown and it was all over, the score 7 to 3 in favor of the Academy.

In the gymnasium later Jim ran into Duncan Sargent. Sargent, his powerful body, scantily draped with a bath towel, glowing from the effects of a shower, stopped him.

“Good work, Hazard,” he said cordially. “I watched you to-day. Keep it up and we’ll find a place for you before the season’s done. There’s just one thing, though, old man, and that is: Play low! Try to remember that, will you?” And the captain passed on with a smile and a nod, leaving Jim very pleased and a little remorseful.

Perhaps no one was more delighted with the events of the afternoon than Hope. She made heroes of Gil and Poke and Jim, and especially Jim. “You played perfectly jimmy!” she declared. “And I saw Grace Andrews there and I was just as proud and sticky as—as anything! Wasn’t it too funny, Jim, you should have played against her brother?”

“Was that who he was?” asked Jim. “I didn’t know his name. He’s pretty light for a tackle.”

(Jim, you see, was already talking like an expert.)

“Well, anyhow, you played all around him. Jeff said so. And we beat them, didn’t we?”

“We ought to. We were pounds heavier, sis.”

“I wish you could have seen Lady when Jeff told her that you were going to play. She covered up her face with her hands and then looked through her fingers every minute!”

That was Jim’s baptism by fire and those few minutes of play gave him new courage to go on with his rÔle. On Monday practice was lengthened and the work became a good deal like drudgery. One had to have a real passion for football in order to really get any enjoyment out of the proceedings. For the first part of the week scrimmaging was abandoned entirely, and Johnny, who had detected a lack of fundamental knowledge in the players, took them back to first principles, and even Duncan Sargent himself was put to tackling the dummy and handling the ball. On Thursday the one scrimmage of the week was held and Jim fought through ten minutes on the second team at left tackle and had his hands very full in keeping Cosgrove and Shepard, who opposed him, from making him look like the inexperienced player he was. But Jim kept his wits about him, worked hard, bluffed harder, and pulled through creditably. And every day now he was gaining knowledge and knack and football sense. And every day the awkwardness which had puzzled the trainer was wearing off. Jim had strength of body and plenty of sound sense, and he was developing both every day. And so, by the end of that week, the school was taking notice of him and fellows were discussing his chance of ousting Curtis from the second team. In short, he had made good. And Poke was as pleased as might be.

“What did I tell you, Jimmy, my boy?” he asked that Friday night. “Didn’t I tell you I’d make a real player out of you? Didn’t I tell you you’d be down on your knees thanking me for my efforts in your behalf, you ungrateful pup?”

“Well, I’m not going down on my knees,” laughed Jim. “They’re much too lame.”

“Look here, Jim,” broke in Jeffrey excitedly, “if you can manage to get on the first team before the season’s through think what it would mean! Why, out of eleven men there’d be three from Sunnywood!”

“Rah for Sunnywood!” cried Poke. “Don’t you worry, Senator; Jim will make the first yet. I’ve got it all doped out. Listen, my children: Marshall won’t last long. He’s a good player, but he had whooping cough or something—”

“Measles,” corrected Gil.

“Well, measles, then, in the summer, and he can’t stand the pace. Johnny sees that already. That’s why Curtis has been playing at left tackle in practice. But Curtis is too slow. He may stay first choice, but it’s pounds to pennies that if Jim keeps on coming he will find himself first sub when the Hawthorne game comes along. Now you fellows mark my words!”

“You’re a wonderful little prophet, Poke,” said Gil. “Still, I shouldn’t be surprised if things turned out something like that. Keep it up, Jim. You’re doing fine!”

“Think I’ll get in to-morrow?” asked Jim anxiously.

“Sure to for a while,” replied Poke. “Why, Dun Sargent’s tickled to death with you. He’s thanked me half a dozen times for getting you out. And now he thinks I’m the one best bet as a football scout. Wants me to keep my eyes open and find him a good left end in Gil’s place.” And Poke scampered before Gil could reach him.

Jim did get into the next day’s game, just as Poke had predicted, and although he had one bad fumble to his discredit he played a good game through one whole period and more than atoned for his fault. And Jim was not the only one to fumble the pigskin that day. Even Gil lost the chance of a clean touchdown by letting the ball roll out of his arms when tackled on the five-yard line, while Arnold, the quarter-back, twice offended. But in spite of these misadventures Crofton had no trouble in rolling up seventeen points against her adversary.

Meanwhile Mr. Hanks had given no sign. There was less trouble in his classes nowadays, possibly because the whole school was so much interested in football, and it began to look as though the instructor’s troubles were over. But on the following Tuesday, Brandon Gary, realizing possibly, that he had neglected his duties as a cut-up, gave his attention again to Mr. Hanks. That was at five minutes past ten.

At a quarter past ten Gary was sitting in Mr. Gordon’s office.

At twelve o’clock it was known all over school that Bull Gary was on probation.