them. In different parts of it half a dozen football elevens were
engaged in practice; on the tennis courts near the athletic house boys
in white trousers and sweaters were playing; on the track encircling
the football field other boys more lightly clad were sprinting or
jogging round in practice for long-distance runs; a few sauntered about
as spectators, with hands in their overcoat pockets.

“There,” said Barclay, indicating a group of these idle observers, “you
can at least do that.”

“But what’s the use?”

“Make yourself a critic; pick out eight or ten fellows to watch
especially. In football or tennis or running. It doesn’t much matter. If
they find you’re taking an intelligent interest in what they’re doing,
they’ll be pleased. Westby, for instance, is running; he’s entered for
the hundred yards in the fall games,—likely to win it, too. Westby’s
your greatest trial, isn’t he? Then why don’t you make a point of
watching him?—Not too obviously, of course. Come round with me; I’m
coaching some of the runners for the next half-hour, and then
Collingwood wants me to give his ends a little instruction.”

“Dear me! If I’d only been an athlete instead of a student in college!”
sighed Irving whimsically.

“You don’t need to be much of an athlete to coach; I never was so very
much,” confided Barclay. “But there are things you can learn by looking
on.” They had reached the edge of the track; Barclay clapped his hands.
“No, no, Roberts!” The boy who was practising the start for a sprint
looked up. “You mustn’t reel all over the track that way when you start;