band of players, who caught on to the joke. All but the dazed
Buster, who, still sitting there and gaping at the seeming remains
of a once fine oval football, shook his head and turned
appealingly toward the coach, called out:

"Say, that wasn't my fault, Mr. Willoughby. Now, who pays for that
ball, anyhow?" which remark brought out renewed shrieks from the
others, some of whom fairly fell over with the violence of their
merriment.

When the joke was explained to the fat boy, of course he laughed
heartily, for his nature could not take offense at anything.

Then the work began in earnest. The efficient coach drilled the
players in all the various plays that were apt to come up during
the course of the game. He expressed his pleasure at the masterly
way these were carried out.

"I'm satisfied that the changes I made have vastly strengthened
the whole team," he said, as he and Frank came together during a
period of rest, after a fierce foray, in which every player worked
systematically, and really clever passes and runs were made around
imaginary hostile forces.

In other days they had rubbed up against the scrub team, and
practiced all their arts against real foes, but this last practice
was to be in secret. Signal work and the drilling of Ralph and
Bones in their respective positions, must occupy much of the
afternoon.