One direct result of that affair in the tank was that Steve found himself something of a school celebrity because of his swimming prowess. Within a few days he had good-naturedly agreed to give instruction to some half-dozen acquaintances and might have taken on a half-dozen more had he had the time for it. But there was only an odd hour or two during the day for swimming and he soon found that, although he got a good deal of fun out of instructing the others, it was taking too much of his time. It was Roy's suggestion—Roy being one of the most enthusiastic pupils—that those who wanted instruction should be on hand at a given hour each day. The suggestion was adopted, and Edwards's Swimming Class soon became a recognised institution. Five o'clock was the hour set, at which time the tank was not much used, and Steve, having returned from football practice, donned swimming trunks and repaired to the pool where he usually found from four to a dozen boys awaiting him, since, by attending to them all at once, he could look after a dozen as easily as a few. Most of the pupils were boys of from thirteen to seventeen, although there were two older fellows in the class, Jay Fowler and Hatherton Williams. Both were Sixth Formers and both were football men. Mr. Conklin, the physical director, gave enthusiastic endorsement and encouragement. Brimfield had never supplied instruction in swimming, something which the director had long regretted, and Mr. Conklin, could he have had his way, would have made attendance at Steve's swimming class compulsory for the younger boys and so have instituted a new feature in the course of physical instruction. But Steve, willing to teach a few fellows who could already swim the finer points of the science, balked at teaching the rudiments to a half-hundred water-shy youths who would have to be coaxed and coddled. Mr. Conklin tried his best to persuade him, but Steve refused firmly.

They had a whole lot of fun during that swimming hour. Fowler and a younger chap named Toll were the more accomplished performers in the class, barring Steve himself, and every session ended with several very earnest races in which Fowler, allowing Toll a five-yard handicap, usually nosed out the younger boy in a contest of four times the length of the tank. Then there was generally a free-for-all, the fellows lining up on the edge of the pool, diving at the word from Steve and swimming to the further end, where, after touching the wall, they turned and hustled back to the start. Sometimes when football practice had been more than usually gruelling, Steve stayed out of the water and instructed from the floor, but more often he went in with the others and followed them in their practice swims. Naturally it was the fancy diving and the racing strokes that most of the fellows wanted to learn, but Steve, who had never in his life before tried to teach anyone anything, displayed a good deal of hard common-sense as an instructor and insisted that each of his pupils should master one thing thoroughly before taking up another. The result was that, barring one or two fellows who would probably in any case have failed to become expert swimmers, the class made really remarkable progress, and there came a time, although it was considerably later in the school year, when both Jay Fowler and Hatherton Williams could equal most of Steve's feats.

Tom started with the class, wisely deciding after his experience with Eric Sawyer that the ability to keep one's head out of water was a fine thing to have. But Tom was not cut out for a human fish and soon gave it up. Roy Draper learned fairly well. He tried to induce Harry to join the class, but Harry preferred to stay with Tom and look on from the floor. When winter set in, Steve's class increased in numbers until in January he was conducting the natatory education of more than two dozen fellows. It was Mr. Conklin who arranged for an exhibition the latter part of the winter and Steve was very proud of his pupils' work on that occasion. It was held one Saturday afternoon and everyone attended, including even "Josh," more formally known as Mr. Joshua Fernald, the principal. There was fancy diving and swimming, a short game of water polo and all kinds of races, beside which Steve showed some six or eight different strokes, swam the length of the tank under water and performed other quite startling feats to the delight of his audience. Mr. Fernald shook hands with him afterwards and said several very nice things. But all this is far beyond my story, and I am only telling of it because it led the following autumn to the installation of a swimming instructor at Brimfield and the addition of swimming to the list of "required studies" for the boys of the four lower forms. The instructor came to the school twice a week and put in two very busy hours there. So you see that fracas between Steve and Eric Sawyer that evening strangely enough resulted in important consequences and, since a knowledge of swimming is a most useful one, worked for good.

But there were other consequences of that fracas as well, and I must get back to those. Larchville Academy followed Miter Hill on Brimfield's schedule and administered the first defeat of the season to the Maroon-and-Grey. It wasn't so much that Brimfield played poorly as that Larchville played unusually well. The visitors presented an aggregation of big, well-trained youths who, most of them having been on their team the previous year, were far in advance of Brimfield in the matter of season development. Larchville's performance was what one might expect in November, but scarcely looked for in the second week of October. Her men played together all the time and her team-work stood out in strong contrast to that of Brimfield, who had scarcely begun as yet to develop such a thing. The final score was 17 to 3, and the only consolation was found in the fact that Larchville's end of it might well have been much larger. Brimfield's three points came as the result of one really brilliant advance for half the length of the field followed by a neat place-kick by Williams. The rest of the game was very much Larchville, and Brimfield was on the defence most of the time.

And, to give credit where it belongs, it was Eric Sawyer who, back in his position at right guard, held his side of the line firm on two anxious occasions when Larchville was striving to hammer out touchdowns under the shadow of her opponent's goal. On the whole, Brimfield played good football that day and no one justly came in for adverse criticism. Captain Miller, at left end, was spectacular under punts and played his usual hard, steady game. Innes at centre was impregnable until the final period. Williams, if a trifle weaker than his opponent, made up for it by scoring the three points for his side. Benson, at right end, was less successful than Captain Miller, but was good on the defence. The back-field, although inclined to go it "every man for himself," showed up well, especially when the enemy was in possession of the ball. Milton, the first-choice quarter-back, ran the team like a general, while Norton, the big full-back, proved the only consistent gainer through the line. In spite of the fact that she had met with defeat, Brimfield found encouragement in that contest, and, after the first few minutes of regrets, spent the rest of the day unstintedly praising her warriors.

There was only light practice the following Monday for those who had taken part in the Saturday game, a fact which once more allowed Coach Robey to give a good deal of attention to the second and third squads. Steve was playing right end regularly now on the third, and Tom was alternating at left guard on the second. The third squad was now down to only eleven members, and when, after a hard hour of signal work and fundamentals, the second and third were lined up for a ten-minute scrimmage, Marvin had to borrow substitutes as needed from the second. There was no scoring that day, but there was an awful lot of hard work. Steve made one or two good plays down the field, but, as usual, was weak on stopping the runner when he reached him. After they were dismissed, Marvin stopped him as he was trotting off with the others.

"I say, Edwards, are you very tired?" he asked.

"N-no, I guess not," Steve replied.

"Then I wish you'd stay out a few minutes and let me try to show you about tackling." Steve glanced distastefully at the dummy and doubtfully at Marvin. But the latter smiled and shook his head. "Never mind the dummy, Edwards," he said. "We'll have our fun right here. I'm going to be the dummy and you're to stop me. Did they take all the balls away? Never mind, we'll imagine the ball. Now, first of all I'm going to show you how I'd handle you if you were the runner. Stand where you are, please."

Marvin dropped in front of Steve and threw his arms about his legs just above the knees. "There's your position, Edwards," he explained. "You see I have my body in front of you. You've not only got to work against my grip around your legs but you've got to push against my weight and resistance. Try it."

Steve did try it, but he could only shuffle an inch or two.

"See?" asked Marvin. "Now, then, having tackled you, it's up to me to put you down. If I let you come forward of your own impetus you'll fall toward my goal, and by stretching out your arms you'll put the ball two yards nearer the goal than where you stand. Of course you wouldn't risk holding the ball at arms' length unless there was a possibility of getting it across a goal-line by doing it. But even if you hold the ball at your stomach you'll gain a yard by falling forward. Now my play is to throw you the other way—like this!"

With a heave Marvin sent Steve toppling backward, much to that youth's surprise. Marvin jumped lightly to his feet, held out a hand to the other and pulled him up.

"See how it's done?" he asked cheerfully. "Now you try it. Never mind diving; just drop where you are on your hip. That's it! Swing your arms around tight! Higher up, though. Remember if you're playing end the rules prohibit you from tackling a runner below the knees. That's better. Now, then, over with me!"

But it wasn't so easy. Marvin, smuggling an imaginary ball in his arms, struggled and twisted and it was all Steve could do to keep him from gaining ground, to say nothing of throwing him back.

"Lift!" instructed the quarter-back. "Lift me up and yank my feet out from under me! Use your weight and throw me back!"

But in trying to lift the other, Steve allowed Marvin to slip past him and the quarter fell forward instead of backward.

"Try again," said Marvin. "It's got to be all one motion, so to say, Edwards. Get your man, wrap your arms around him and heave. Sometimes you can't do better than stop him. If he's coming hard, you won't be able to put him back. He's got to be more or less erect to make that go. But do it whenever you can. Now, then, once more! Down you go! That's the stuff! Bully work! Don't be afraid of hurting me! Put me back!"

Steve actually did it that time and was so pleased that he was grinning all over his face when Marvin scrambled to his feet again.

"That was a lot better. Once get the idea fixed in your head, Edwards, and it'll come easy. You'll do it without a thought. Once more now, and put some ginger into it. Here I come!"

Marvin walked a couple of steps forward, Steve dropped and gripped his knees, heaved and over went the quarter. A dozen times Marvin made him practise it, and then,

"All right," he said. "Now I'm going to run toward you, Edwards. I'm going to get by you if I can, too. You've got to do your best to stop me. Don't try any flying tackles, and remember that you've got to have one foot on the ground when you get me. All right now!"

Steve was glad they had the gridiron practically to themselves, for he cut a poor figure the first three times that he tried to reach the elusive quarter-back. Once Marvin caught him with a straight arm and sent him toppling out of his path, once Marvin dodged him completely, twirling on one heel and darting past him beyond reach, and once the little quarter-back wrenched himself loose after being tackled. But the fourth time Steve was more successful, and after that he reached the runner every time even if he didn't always stop him short. Even when Steve had his arms gripped tightly about Marvin's knees, the latter was almost always able to somehow make another yard or two before he was willing to call "Down!" But Steve learned more in that half-hour than he had learned all the season, and when, after awhile, the two boys, panting and perspiring but satisfied with themselves, walked back to the gymnasium, Steve had the grace to thank Marvin.

"That's all right," replied the other. "I knew you could play the game, Edwards, if you could once get the hang of making a decent tackle. And I knew, too, that the trouble with you was that you'd just sort of made up your mind that you couldn't learn, that you didn't understand what I've been trying to show you. There won't be any third squad after the middle of the week, Edwards, and if you hadn't shown something more than you've been showing in the tackling line I couldn't conscientiously have sent you up to the second."

"That was mighty decent," muttered Steve.

"Well, you mustn't take it as a personal favour, Edwards," answered Marvin with a smile, "although I'm glad to do it for you. You see, I don't want to let any good material get away. And I think you are good material, and if there was any possibility of your being of use to the second squad I wanted to get you there. Now, to-morrow we'll have another go at it, and the next day too, and every day until you can tackle a runner as well as you can handle a ball or play in the line. Is that a bargain?"

"Yes," replied Steve heartily. "And thanks, Marvin."