“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 the year before that. I operate on the theory that if I keep on predicting long enough we’re bound to win someday.”
They had come to the crosswalk leading to the side entrance of the shop wing of the main school building. Andy turned off there to have a talk with Mr. Stark, the machine shop instructor, as he had promised his father he would. Ted turned off in the opposite direction and disappeared into the gymnasium.
Andy was about to put his hand on the latch of the shop entrance door when he heard someone say behind him, “Got a minute to spare, Carter?”
Andy turned to see Coach Dorman beckoning to him. Andy retraced his steps and said, “Yes, sir?” then waited, wondering what the coach wanted.
“Suppose we go into my office,” suggested Coach Dorman, pleasantly. “I’ve got something on my desk that I would like to have your opinion about.” He unlocked the small door to his private office in the corner of the big gymnasium building and motioned for Andy to enter first. “Take that chair beside my desk and make yourself comfortable while I dig out of the filing cabinet what I want to show you.”
Andy could not help noticing how the new coach moved with the springy step of an athlete in perfect physical condition, and how sure and direct he was in using his hands. When he pulled out the drawer of the filing cabinet he did it quickly without jerking it. Then when he had found the papers he wanted he closed the drawer with a single push but without slamming it. And when he sat down at his battered old desk he did not slouch but sat upright.
Suddenly Andy found himself looking into a pair of steady but pleasant brown eyes—brown like his own—and Coach Dorman was saying, “Mr. Skiles, your former coach, was kind enough to leave me his notes concerning the players from last year’s squad who would be coming back this year.” He turned back several pages before looking again at Andy. “What I am going to read you about this player is confidential—just between the two of us, understand. After I have finished, I am going to ask you some questions about this player because I think you know him better than any of his other teammates.”
Then the coach began reading from Mr. Skiles’s old notes: “ ‘This boy reported for freshman football three years ago. He was eager to learn the fundamentals and attended practice faithfully. But although he was larger than some of the other freshmen he never was quite good enough to warrant giving him a freshman football numeral.’ ”
Coach Dorman paused and said to Andy, “Here is what Mr. Skiles says about him as a sophomore,” and resumed reading: “ ‘In his second year I had hopes that this boy would find himself. He had grown taller and stronger, and his experience at first base on the freshman baseball team had improved his physical co-ordination. He did not drop a single ball thrown to him during the season and led the freshman team in batting. However, as a sophomore candidate for the football team he failed to meet my expectations.’ ”
Coach Dorman skipped the next paragraph, then resumed reading: “ ‘This boy reported for football as a junior this fall in better physical condition than any other candidate on the squad. He had practiced forward passing all summer; and when I held a forward-passing contest at the end of the first