But when, a few minutes later, Mills appeared on the gridiron in
football togs, Paul was forced to alter his opinion. Chest, arms, and
legs were a mass of muscle, and the head coach looked as though he could
render a good account of himself against the stiffest line that could be
put together.

The practise began with ten minutes of falling on the ball. The
candidates were lined out in two strings across the field, the old men
in one, the new material in another. Neil and Paul were among the
latter, and Mills held their ball. Standing at the right end of the
line, he rolled the pigskin in front of and slightly away from the line,
and one after another the men leaped forward and flung themselves upon
it, missing it at first as often as not, and rolling about on the turf
as though suddenly seized with fits. Neil rather prided himself on his
ability to fall on the ball, and went at it like an old stager, or so he
thought. But if he expected commendation he found none. When the last
man had rolled around after the elusive pigskin, Mills went to the other
end of the line and did it all over again.

When it came Neil's turn he plunged out, found the ball nicely, and
snuggled it against his breast. To his surprise when he arose Mills left
his place and walked out to him.

"Let's try that again," he said. Neil tossed him the ball and went back
to his place. Mills nodded to him and rolled the pigskin toward him.
Neil dropped on his hip, securing the ball under his right arm. Like a
flash Mills was over him, and with a quick blow of his hand had sent the
leather bobbing across the turf yards away.

"When you get it, hold on to it," he said dryly. Neil arose with