For the first few days the Regulars regarded the doings of the Independents with amused curiosity. When Walter Duffield appeared on the scene curiosity continued but was richly leavened with resentment. The idea of those fellows having the services of a real coach while they had to get along as best they might with Hopkins, who, after all, knew no more football than many of the rest of them! The idea of the school turning its back on the regular team and lending its aid and support to a lot of renegades! It was disgusting and annoying. The Regulars said a good many hard things about the Independents those days, and there was more than one challenge given and accepted and more than one battle fought out down at the boat-house, which was the accepted place for the settlement of affairs of honor.

Frank Hopkins’ attitude had so far been one of amused tolerance. Prentiss, on the contrary, had let his chagrin get the better of his temper many times, and Rob and the others had heard at second or third hand many an unpleasant remark which had emanated from the manager of the School Team. So far, however, Rob had avoided controversy with either of them, although he and Joe Law had their arguments at almost every meal. On the Wednesday following the arrival of Duffield Rob encountered Edgar Prentiss in the corridor of Academy Hall. Rob was for passing on with a nod, but Prentiss stopped him.

“How’s the team getting on, Lanky?” he asked with an unpleasant smile. Rob didn’t mind being called Lanky by fellows he liked, but resented it from Prentiss. So he answered rather shortly.

“All right.”

“Hear you’ve got a coach,” pursued the other.

“Yes.”

“Got about everything but players, haven’t you?”

“We’ve got those, too, Prentiss. If you don’t believe it bring your team over some afternoon for practice. You’ll get it.”

Prentiss pretended to think that a pretty good joke and laughed loudly. Rob kept his temper, although it wasn’t easy.

“Want a game, eh?” asked Prentiss. “I dare say. Well, we’ve got too much to do, Langton; like to oblige you, but we’re busy.”

“You bet you’ve got too much to do,” answered Rob with enthusiasm. “If you’re going to make a football team out of that aggregation of loafers you’ve got a whole lot to do. We don’t want to play you; get that out of your head; we’ve got all the dates we can fill; only, if you really want to learn a little about the game you see Warne and if we have an open date we’ll take you on. So long.”

On the steps Rob came across another Regular in the person of Gus Devens. “Hello, Gus,” he said. “Say, I was wrong the other day, wasn’t I?”

“I dare say you were, Rob, only I don’t recall the particular occasion.”

“When I said you wouldn’t make the First Team. I suppose it spoils our chances of getting you to come over to us, but I’m glad of your luck. You deserve it, Gus; you’ve tried long enough.”

Gus looked puzzled and a trifle uneasy, as though he suspected Rob’s sincerity.

“What are you yawping about, Rob?” he asked.

“Why,” answered Rob, looking surprised, “about you making the First Team, of course.”

“Who said I’d made it?” asked Gus glumly.

“Why—why, I don’t know. Maybe I just naturally jumped to the conclusion. I knew that Tom Reid was out and, of course, you were the best man for the place. So I supposed—”

“Yes, you did!” Gus growled. “You needn’t rub it in.”

“Rub it in?” exclaimed Rob with a fine show of innocence. “Do you mean that Hop didn’t take you to the First?”

“Not that I’ve heard of. He moved Ward over from right and put Little in Ward’s place. I guess he knows his business, but I’m blamed if I don’t think he might have given me a show, Rob.”

“Rather!” exclaimed Rob warmly. “Why, Little can’t play tackle! He can’t play—pinochle! Did you say anything to him? Hop, I mean.”

“Not likely. I’m not running his show. If he doesn’t want me he doesn’t have to have me. But I’m getting tired of his nonsense, I’ll tell you that.”

“Little’s a rather good friend of Prentiss, isn’t he?”

“I dare say. Came from the same town, I think. Gee, the way those two chumps run things makes me tired! Maybe you’ll see me bringing my doll-rags over to play with you fellows some day, Rob, after all.”

“Well, don’t do anything hasty,” said Rob soothingly. “Maybe you’ll make it yet.”

Gus laughed. “You’re foxy, aren’t you, Lanky? See you later.”

Gus hurried into Academy and Rob meandered toward Holden smiling contentedly.

The Independents stuck pretty closely to the rudiments of football for the first part of that week, but since there was enough experienced material in the ranks to form a first and second squad on Thursday Duffield, much to every one’s surprise, held a ten minute scrimmage. The first squad wasn’t made up as Rob had anticipated. Evan was at quarter and Rob at left half, but Morse didn’t suit Duffield as a center and of the ends Rob had selected only Brimmer found a place. The biggest surprise came when the coach put Jelly in at center. But strange to say, Jelly took to the place like a fish to water, and, with Evan driving him and Duffield close on his heels every minute, showed evidence of real speed. The first squad as composed that day was as follows: right end, Cook; right tackle, Kasker; right guard, Chase; center, Jell; left guard, Koehler; left tackle, James; left end, Brimmer; quarter-back, Kingsford; right half-back, Lyman; left half-back, Langton; full-back, Shaler.

The work was pretty ragged that first day, but that was to be expected. Duffield scolded and threatened, and one would have thought to hear him take on that he was deeply disgusted with the material before him. Rob was certain of it and had visions of Duffield throwing up his position on the spot. And so, when at the conclusion of the afternoon’s work, the coach called him aside, Rob was prepared for the worst. Duffield made him put his sweater on and then took him by the arm and led him to a seat on the old grandstand. For a full minute Duffield said nothing, only watched the First and Second Teams plugging away at each other on the farther gridiron, and Rob’s heart sank lower and lower. At last, however, Duffield turned and spoke.

“Well, Langton,” he said, “I don’t see why we can’t turn out a pretty good team with that stuff.”

“Wh—what?” stammered Rob.

“Why not?” asked Duffield. “We’ve got good material; better than the average considering age. We’re going to be light, but that isn’t anything to worry about. Take a light team and teach them the sort of plays that fit ’em and they’ll hold their own with a team ten pounds heavier. I’ve seen it time and again. Look at some of our teams at Brown; look at last year’s.”

“That’s so,” murmured Rob, wondering whether his face was expressing the relief he felt.

“We’ve got to be fast, though, Langton, almighty fast! We’ve got to din speed into that bunch right along, every minute. If it comes to a choice between two men the man with ginger gets the job. You’ve got a find in that chap Kingsford. Where’d he fall from?”

“He’s new this year. Came from Elmira and played up there on his grammar-school team.”

“Well, how does it happen the other camp didn’t grab him?” Duffield nodded toward the farther field.

“The same old story,” answered Rob. “They didn’t give him a chance to show what he could do. They had him on the Second for a few days and then he hurt his ankle and they let him slide.”

“They must be a fine set of chumps,” said Duffield disgustedly. “We’ve got good end material, too, Langton. Cook and that other chap—”

“Brimmer.”

“Yes. They’re showing up pretty well already. Kasker’s a good man at tackle and Koehler’s another at guard. But the others in the center aren’t much to boast of. Still, you can’t tell what a week of coaching will do. That little fat Jelly boy may make a good center. If he can learn to keep awake I think he will.”

“You think he’s better than Morse?”

“Yes. Morse hasn’t any head. Football to-day needs head, Langton. Morse is the sort that will do what you tell him but he hasn’t any initiative; at least, that’s the way I size him up now. I may be mistaken. You’ll do at half all right, I guess, but you’ve got to learn to go harder and use your eyes. Lyman won’t do, but he’ll have to stay until we can find some one better. At full-back: well, Shaler may be the one and he may not. It will depend on the kind of game we play. Taking the bunch in general though, Langton, it looks pretty good. But we may be pinched for substitutes. There are only three or four in the second squad that size up well. Powers is one of them and there’s another chap, a shock-headed boy, who played in the backfield to-day.”

“That’s Tanner. He played full.”

“Tanner? We’ll have to watch him. Well, you’d better run along and get changed. I’ll see you to-morrow. By the way, I guess we’d better cut down the bunch about Saturday.”

“Yes, I suppose so. There’ll be a lot of kicking about that time.” Duffield shrugged his shoulders.

“Let ’em kick. Has Warne found any dates yet?”

“He hadn’t got any replies when I asked him this noon. Maybe he’ll hear from some of them to-night.”

“All right. See you to-morrow. You’d better run up to the gym and get warm.”

On Saturday the cut was made and all but twenty-nine candidates were diplomatically informed that their further services would not be required. Rob’s prediction proved true, for the disgruntled ones had a good deal to say. But they didn’t find much sympathy except from each other. The School Team journeyed away from home that day and won a listless, poorly played game from Hope Hill Academy, 8 to 0. During their absence the Independents held practice on the School Team’s gridiron and in the twenty minutes of scrimmaging the first squad scored twice on the second, once by straight line-plunging and once with the help of a blocked kick which Kasker captured and romped over the line with. On Monday Malcolm announced that he had arranged for three games, the first to be played the following Saturday with Cardiff High School, the second with Hillsgrove High at Hillsgrove the Wednesday after and the third with the Overbrook Academy Second Team three days later. The Cardiff game would be an ideal one for a first contest since Cardiff was not a strong team. The Hillsgrove game was possible enough because Hillsgrove was only three miles distant and the expense of getting there and back would amount to little. Rob wanted something better than the Overbrook Second for the third contest, but, as nothing better offered, was forced to be content with it. On that Saturday the Overbrook First Team was coming to Riverport to play the School Team and the Overbrook Second would accompany it and take on the Independents as a side issue.

“That leaves us one more Saturday and Thanksgiving Day,” said Rob thoughtfully. “I’d like to get a couple of rattling games for those dates, Mal.”

“So would I,” answered Malcolm, “but I don’t know where to look for them. Every team has its dates filled, you see.”

“That’s the dickens of it. We’ll have a talk with Duffield to-morrow. Maybe he can suggest something.”

“I wish,” said Jelly, who happened to be present at the time, “that we could have a game before Saturday. That’s a long time to wait, fellows. Couldn’t we find someone to take us on Wednesday?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Malcolm.

“By Jove!” exclaimed Rob. “I’ve got it! I heard that on Thursday the First’s going to lay off and take a rest for the Mifflin game; they’re going out on the bay or some fool thing like that. Sounds like Prentiss, doesn’t it? Well, anyway, that leaves the Second with nothing doing. Suppose I see Gus Devens and ask him to play us a short game; say, fifteen minute halves?”

“Great!” said Evan, and the others agreed.

“But will he do it?” asked Malcolm. “Will Hop let him?”

Rob thought a moment.

“I think he will do it if he can. You leave it to me, Mal, and don’t anyone breathe a word of it. I’ll see what can be done. Gee, fellows, but I’d like to take a fall out of the Second!”

“We could lick them to death,” declared Jelly stoutly.

“Well, we could try,” said Evan. “I think we might be able to do them up, too.”

“We won’t do a thing to them!” breathed Rob softly and ecstatically.

The next afternoon, following the practice, the Independents held an election in the rowing-room of the gymnasium and made Rob permanent captain of the team. There were no other candidates for the honor and the choice was unanimous. The next evening, Wednesday, Rob called on Gus Devens after study-hour. Gus lived in Second House and shared his room with Joe Law. Luckily for Rob’s plans Law was not at home when he got there. After a few minutes of talk Rob remarked:

“I suppose, Gus, Hop and Prentiss make you do about as they want, don’t they?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean as regards your team. I suppose, for instance you couldn’t get up a practice game with another team without asking their permission.” Gus viewed Rob speculatively.

“Meaning with your outfit?” Rob nodded. Gus considered. Then, “To-morrow, you mean?” Rob nodded again. Gus smiled. Then he laughed.

“They’d be as mad as hornets, Rob, but I’ll do it if I can get the fellows together.”