try for tackle or something, something you’d have a show at.”
“But you just said,” answered the other demurely, “that the team needed another good guard.”
Slim grinned and shook his head. “All right, son, but I’d like to see you on the team. That’s all.”
“Think one of us ought to get on, eh?”
“Huh? Oh, well, there’s something in that, too. I’m not very sure of a place, and that’s no jolly quip. Gurley’s a good end, worse luck! And there’s Kerrison, too. But I’ll give them a fight for it. They’ll know they’ve been working if they beat me out, General! Let’s go and see what they’re giving us for supper.”
Leonard met the captain that evening for the first time. Met him socially, that is to say, Russell Emerson and Billy Wells overtook Leonard and Slim on their way to the movies. Wells was one of those Leonard already had a speaking acquaintance with, but Emerson had thus far remained outside his orbit. Continuing the journey, Leonard fell to Billy Wells and Rus and Slim walked ahead, but coming home they paired differently and Leonard found himself conversing with the captain, at first somewhat embarrassedly. But the football captain was easy to know, as the saying is, and Leonard soon forgot his diffidence. Of course, football formed some of the conversation, but Leonard sensed relief on the other’s part when the subject changed to the pictures they had just witnessed. After that they talked of other things; the school, and Leonard’s home in Rhode Island – Rus, it seemed, had never been farther south than he was now – , and the faculty and some of the fellows. The captain seemed to take it for granted that his companion was familiar with the names he mentioned, although as a fact most of them were new to Leonard. Mention of “Jake,” the trainer, introduced a laughable story about Jake and a track team candidate, in which Rus tried to imitate Jake’s brogue. That reminded Leonard of Johnny McGrath, and he asked Rus if he knew him.
“Yes, I’ve met him several times,” was the answer. “I’ve been trying to get him to try football. He’s a very good basket ball player and I’ve a strong hunch that he’d make a corking half. But his folks, his mother especially, I believe, object. He had a brother killed in the War, and his mother is dead set against taking chances with another of them. Too bad, too, for he’s a fast, scrappy fellow. The good-natured kind, you know. Plays hard and keeps his temper every minute. There’s a lot in keeping your temper, Grant.”
“But I’ve heard of teams being ‘fighting mad’ and doing big things.”
“Yes, the phrase is common enough, but ‘fighting earnest’ would be better. Just as soon as a fellow gets really mad he loses his grip more or less. He makes mistakes of judgment, begins to play ‘on his own.’ If he gets angry enough he stops being any use to the team. Of course there are chaps now and then who can work themselves up to a sort of fighting fury and play great football, but I suspect that those chaps aren’t really quite as wild as they let on. There’s Billy back there. He almost froths at the mouth and insults the whole team he’s playing against, but he never loses anything more than his tongue, I guess. The old bean keeps right on functioning as per usual. Billy doesn’t begin to warm up until his opponent double-crosses him or some one hands him a wallop! By the way, Grant, you’re on the squad, aren’t you? Seems to me I’ve seen you out at the field.”
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