Rodney felt rather than saw the look of hurt surprise and disgust on Tad’s face, but the incredulous astonishment that sprang into Watson’s countenance he viewed with secret satisfaction. Doyle’s surprise was less but his interest greater, while the coach showed only pleasure in the meeting. Mr. Cotting looked about thirty and was small and wiry, with keen gray eyes in a thin and deeply tanned face. He had a pleasant smile and a pleasant voice and spoke quickly and incisively.

“And how is that brother of yours, Merrill? Doing well, I hope.”

“Yes, sir, Stanley’s getting on finely. He’s in Omaha, in the railroad office. He’s assistant to the Traffic Manager.”

“I’d like to see him again. He’s never been back but once since he left us. Then he came up one fall and helped with the coaching for three or four days. You look like him in the face, but you’re built lighter.”

“Look here,” interrupted Watson, “do you mean that this kid is Ginger Merrill’s own brother?”

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Cotting. “I knew it the moment I set eyes on him. Why didn’t Ginger let us know you were coming, Merrill?”

“He—he wanted to, sir, but—I asked him not to.”

“I see.” The coach smiled. “Wanted to avoid publicity, eh? But how is it you’re not out to-day? You play, of course.”

“No, sir, that is, not well.”

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen, sir. I’ll be sixteen next January.”

“You’ve got lots of time then. You’d better come out to-morrow and let me see how bad you are.” He smiled encouragingly.

“I’m pretty bad,” answered Rodney. “And I don’t care much for football,” he added apologetically.

“Nonsense!” This was Captain Doyle, and he spoke impatiently. “You don’t expect us to believe that Ginger Merrill’s brother isn’t a born football player. Where have you played?”

“At home, Orleans, Nebraska.”

“I mean what position, Merrill.”

“Oh, guard and tackle. I’ve never played much. I’m—I’m no good at it, sir.”

“Well, you haven’t any objection to proving it to us, have you?” asked the coach with a laugh. “You come out to-morrow, Merrill.”

“I—I’d rather not, sir, if you please.”

“Rather not!” The coach stared. Watson laughed. Captain Doyle exclaimed impatiently. “Come, come, Merrill! That’s no way to act,” protested Mr. Cotting. “The school needs good material. You may not be a wonderful player now, my boy, but, for that matter, neither was your brother when I first saw him. But he buckled down and learned. You can do the same, I think. Anyhow, it’s up to you to try. Of course, if you really find you can’t make a go at it, there’s no harm done and it’s nothing against you. But you really ought to try, Merrill. You owe it to the school—and to Ginger.”

“He knows I’m a duffer, sir; he says so himself,” answered Rodney sadly.

“He does?” Mr. Cotting seemed impressed by that and looked Rodney over again doubtfully. “Well, you are fairly light, but—hang it, Merrill, you look intelligent and you’re well put together and seem healthy. You come out to-morrow and report to me. If you can’t show anything I’ll let you go. That’s a bargain, eh?”

“Very well, sir,” answered Rodney.

“Look here,” said Doyle, “if you haven’t played football where’d you get those muscles and that chest?”

“Tennis, I guess. And I’ve played baseball a little, too.”

“That settles it,” grunted Watson. “Never knew a tennis player that was any good at football. I guess the kid knows what he’s talking about, Coach.”

“We’ll see. To-morrow, then, Merrill.” The coach nodded, smiled and turned away. Doyle and Watson kept pace with him. Tad turned to Rodney indignantly.

“You’re an awful liar, Rod!” he exclaimed.

“I didn’t lie,” replied Rodney calmly. “I didn’t say Ginger wasn’t my brother. You asked if we were related, and I just asked if I looked like him.”

“Well, you let me think so,” grumbled Tad.

“What if I did?” asked Rodney cheerfully. “That isn’t lying, is it? If I didn’t care to own up to it, that’s my business, isn’t it?”

“Well, I don’t see why you’re ashamed of it. Gee, if Ginger Merrill was my brother I’d be strutting around and clapping my wings and crowing all over the shop!”

“Oh, no you wouldn’t,” laughed the other. “Besides, you see what’s happened. I knew that would be the way of it if they found out.”

“What has happened?” asked Tad.

“Why they think I can play, and they’re making me try it. I can’t play, and they’ll find it out, and then they won’t have any use for me at all.”

“How do you know you can’t play?” asked Tad. “Why Cotting can make a football player out of—out of a piece of cheese!”

“Thanks! I’m not a piece of cheese, though. It would take fifty Cottings to make a football player out of me, Mudge. And besides that I don’t want to play football!”

“Oh, that wouldn’t matter. If you can play you’ll have to. Maple Hill expects every man to do his duty. You’ll learn all right, Rod. Bet you’ll be on the second team before the season’s over!”

“Don’t talk silly! And look here, Mudge, use your brain, can’t you? Don’t you see that even if I did learn a little football the school would expect a whole lot of me just because I’m Stanley Merrill’s brother? And I couldn’t deliver the goods, and everyone would be disappointed in me. That’s why I didn’t want to play at all.”

“But if you’re Ginger’s brother,” replied Tad confidently, “you must know how to play. It stands to reason. Or, as Kitty says, ‘It follows.’ Maybe you think you can’t play football, but it’s in you somewhere, Rodney, old boy, and Cotting will get it out! Don’t you worry!”

“You make me tired,” sighed Rodney. “I wish I’d never come here. I haven’t got time for football anyway. I want to study.”

“You want—to—what!” exclaimed Tad incredulously.

“Study. That’s what I came here for, isn’t it?”

“My word!” Tad looked at him sorrowfully. “You’re a queer one, Rod. You don’t want folks to know you’re Ginger Merrill’s brother; you don’t want to be a football hero; and you want to study! Honest, old man, you positively alarm me! I don’t know whether I ought to associate with you. Suppose I caught it, too!”

“I guess it wouldn’t do you any harm,” laughed Rodney. “Where are you going?”

“Over here. Come along.”

Tad made straight for a group of boys near the center of the sideline, a firm grip on Rodney’s arm impelling that youth to follow. What followed was distasteful to Rodney, distasteful and embarrassing. Tad hailed the biggest boy of the group when a few yards away.

“Fielding! Want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Merrill, First Form. He’s a brother of Ginger Merrill. Shake hands with Fielding, Rod. And this is Sykes, and Canterbury, and Jones, and Kemp.”

Between names Rodney’s hand was shaken by different members of the group, who expressed surprised delight at meeting him and hurled questions. Rodney, very red of face, muttered politely and, when it was over, turned upon Tad in wrath. “What did you do that for?” he demanded. “I felt like a perfect fool!”

Tad grinned. “You needn’t, Rod. We’re none of us perfect!”

“Well, I’ll thank you to mind your own business after this, Mudge,” replied Rodney crossly.

“Look here.” Tad turned upon him soberly. “You are Ginger Merrill’s brother, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but——”

“Then fellows have a right to know it. They want to know it.”

“It’s none of their business——”

“You bet it is! We’re proud of Ginger Merrill here and if Ginger Merrill’s black cat or his skye terrier came here we’d want to know it. That’s why I introduced you to those chaps.”

“I don’t thank you,” returned Rodney, ungraciously. “And I’ve had enough of this. I’m going back.”

Tad, hands in pockets, watched Rodney’s back for a while with a puzzled frown on his face. Then he whistled expressively, shrugged his shoulders and turned again to watch practice.

Rodney, thoroughly angry at he didn’t quite know what, left the athletic field behind him, and instead of entering the back campus, as the ground containing the head master’s house and the gymnasium was called, turned to the right on Larch Street and wandered down it, kicking the dead leaves out of his path. He was heartily sick of hearing the name of that tiresome brother of his. If, he told himself savagely, anyone said ‘Ginger Merrill’ to him again to-day he’d—he’d strike them! The last thing he wanted to do was to join the football candidates, and here he was pledged to appear to-morrow afternoon for practice. And he didn’t even possess a pair of football trousers. He wished heartily he had kept away from the field.

He passed one intersecting street which, he knew, would take him back to Westcott’s, and kept on. He wasn’t ready for home yet. There would probably be fellows about and he wasn’t in the humor to talk to them. At the next corner progress ahead was closed to him, and having the choice of turning to left or right, he turned to the left. A block further on he realized that the street looked strangely familiar, a fact explained when he sighted a granite horseblock set at the edge of the sidewalk in front of a narrow gate in a lilac hedge.

“I hope,” he muttered, “I don’t run into those silly twins.” And then in the next instant he found himself hoping he would. Somehow he felt a desire to unbosom himself to someone sympathetic, and girls, even if they did hold strange views on a good many subjects, were sympathetic. So when he reached the gate he looked through, and there on the croquet lawn which he had traversed the other day were the objects of his thoughts. They didn’t see him and he stood for a moment and looked and listened.

“I’m very sure, just as sure as I can be, that you haven’t been through the middle wicket,” declared one of the twins—he hadn’t the faintest idea at that distance which twin she was!

“And I’m perfectly certain I have been,” declared the other with equal firmness. “I came across there after I sent you into the geranium bed and got in position for the side wicket——”

“And I came over here on my next shot. And then you went through the side wicket and your next shot took you over there——”

“And I went through the next turn!”

“You didn’t, because I hit you and took my two shots——”

“But you left me in position and I went through!”

“Oh, I do wish there was someone here to settle it! I’m just as sure as sure that I’m right!”

“And so am I! I suppose we’ll just have to begin over again.” Rodney could hear at the gate the sigh accompanying this. “This makes three times that it’s happened. We never will get a game finished!”

“Because you always forget what wicket you’re for.”

“No, because you forget.”

“We-ell, come on, then. It’s your first again.” One of the twins sent her ball toward the further stake.

“Tell you what you do,” said Rodney. “Get a couple of clothespins, tie different colored ribbons on them and then, when you go through a wicket, stick your clothespin on it.” He was enjoying the looks of surprise on the faces of the twins. “It’s a good scheme, really.”

“It’s—now whatever did he say his name was?” exclaimed one of the girls.

“I forget. I remember we said it was an unusual name, though,” was the reply. The two viewed each other doubtfully.

“I think it was Reginald.”

“No, Roderick!”

“Anyway, it began with an R!”

“It’s Rodney,” laughed that youth. “May I come in?”