that mean, Son, that a high school football letter means more to you than the best possible preparation you can get for studying engineering at college?”
“But I can take a machine shop course at college,” argued Andy. “Plenty of fellows come from high schools that don’t have a shop course and get their engineering degree just the same.”
“I don’t doubt it,” admitted his father, reaching for his fountain pen and drawing a pad of blank theme paper toward him as he added, “but the more practical experience a young engineer has in how to make the things himself, with his own hands, the better engineer he will be when he designs things for others to make. But if that’s what you want, I’ll give my written permission for you to drop your machine shop course so you can have a fair chance to win your football letter.”
Andy’s father wrote a brief note, signed it, and handed it to his son, adding quietly, “All I ask, Son, is that you talk this over with Mr. Stark, the machine shop teacher, before you make your final decision.”
Andy flashed his father an enthusiastic smile. “Thanks a million, Dad. You’re the swellest father I know.”
Andy received a firm poke in the ribs from his father’s thumb and, “I’m not too sure about that. It is up to you now to prove that you can make good grades and your football letter too. Don’t let me down.”
After his father had left the room, Andy reached up and took down a framed certificate from the wall back of his study desk that read, “Reserve Football Award. Issued to Andrew Carter for His Team Spirit and Faithful Attendance at All Football Practice.”
Andy removed the certificate, then hung the empty frame back in its place—all ready to receive that coveted varsity block R that nothing in this world was going to stop him from getting now!
Chapter 3
On Tuesday, the first day of the fall term at Riverford High, curious Susie noticed that Andy’s schoolbooks were stacked at his elbow and that he was keeping one eye on the clock as he ate his breakfast.
“Why the mad rush?” she asked. “It’s more than an hour yet before the first-period bell rings. And I know you haven’t any first-period class.” She reached for a piece of toast and sighed. “When I get to be a senior I’m going to plan my last year’s courses so I won’t have to go to school before the second hour.”
“Sorry, got to hurry,” said Andy, gathering up his books and pushing back his empty cocoa cup. “I’ll tell you all about it after football practice tonight.” He glanced over at his father, saying seriously, “I haven’t forgotten, Dad,” and left the house.
“What is all this mystery?” Andy heard Susie asking as he closed the front door behind him and started for school at a dogtrot.
It was a mile from Andy’s home to school. During the football season he usually jogged the full distance to keep in top physical condition. But this morning he had jogged only a half mile before he overtook Ted Hall, walking in the same direction.
Ted peered at him through his thick eyeglasses and asked, “Where’s the fire or murder or what? Such haste is unseemly for a dignified senior.”
“What are you doing, heading for school this early?” Andy countered.
“I have certain responsibilities as an executive,” said Ted, and grinned to show that he was not taking himself seriously. “As student manager of the team I’ve got to get to the gym early and sort that mixed-up box of shoes into pairs for the reserve squad. Bad business having fellows running around in two left shoes or two right ones. People’s feet don’t usually grow that way.”
Ted paused to give Andy another inquiring look. “That reminds me of something else that is part of my official business. Have you untangled your conflict in class hours so that you can keep those new varsity shoes I gave you, or will you have to turn them in and draw an old pair from the reserve box?”
Andy passed over the note which his father had written granting permission for him to drop the late-afternoon machine shop course and take a first-period course in its place.
Ted read the note, then handed it back, saying admiringly, “Anybody who can argue grownups around to his ideas the way you can, old horse, should try out for the debating team. You’d win in a breeze.”
Andy said a little gloomily, “I don’t think you read Dad’s last sentence,” then read it aloud for Ted’s benefit : “ ‘However, I am leaving the final decision in this matter to my son.’ ”
“What are you crying about?” Ted asked brusquely. “You may not know it, because your folks are different. Most grownups do all the deciding and you have to do exactly as you’re told. Here you’ve got a chance to do your own deciding and you put up a groan.”
Andy folded the note and tucked it back into his shirt pocket with a little sigh. “This is one time I wish Dad had done all the deciding. Now I’ve got to talk it all over again with Mr. Stark and convince him, too, that it is the right thing to drop the machine shop course he teaches.”
“If you ask me,” said Ted pointedly, “your big problem isn’t talking this over with Mr. Stark. You can tell him that you have decided, with your father’s permission, to drop machine shop and there’s nothing he can do about it. I mean, you’ve got to make a place for yourself on the varsity first string this year. It’s your last chance, remember.”
“I’m going to feel like a chump if I don’t,” admitted Andy soberly.
Ted gave him an encouraging jab in the ribs with his thumb. “I don’t see how you can miss. That pick-and-shovel job you worked at all summer has put you in better condition than any other fellow on the squad. Cheer up, they’ll be calling you the iron horse of Riverford High before the season is over!”
They walked on toward school—still talking football, naturally. But now they were discussing the comparative strength of the other high school teams that Riverford High was scheduled to play, and what were the chances of “the team’s”—Riverford’s—winning the sectional championship. Which meant, of course, beating Mansfield High in the last game of the season.
“We’ve got at least an outside chance,” insisted Ted. “In the first place, we’ve got twelve—count ’em, twelve—letter men from last year’s squad. Remember Mansfield lost all but Reynolds in their backfield from graduation last June. Reynolds may be a little better safety man than Ken Blair of our team, but then Ken will have Marshall and Jim Eddins with him again this year to back up the line on defense. And you, of course,” he added hastily, then gave Andy one of his heartwarming grins. “Is that going to be something to watch! Mansfield has never played against you. So by the time they think they have Ken under control, in comes the iron horse of Riverford——”
Ted broke off with one of his quick dramatic gestures and pointed toward the empty seats of the football field, which, at that moment, they were passing as they walked toward the gymnasium. “And right there is where it’s going to happen!”
Andy thought of the last two years when he had sat on the substitute bench and watched with a sinking heart as Mansfield High won by top-heavy scores.
Ted shot him a quick look and said, grinning, “Never mind those wild predictions I made last year, and the year before that, and
