Clayton was too sure of his own position and power to pay any heed to the storm that was brewing for him, and was only too glad to see more Lakerim men on the scrub team for him to abuse.

The next day Tug persuaded some of the others of the scrub eleven to “lay off” for a few days, and he also persuaded the captain of the scrub team to give him command for a week.  Then he took his new eleven, seven of them old Lakerim veterans, out on the field, and worked with them early and late.

To instil into the heads of his men the necessity of being in just the right place at the right time, Tug drew a map of the field on a large sheet of paper, and spread it on his center-table; then he took twenty-two checkers and set them in array like two football teams.  He gathered his eleven into his room at night, told each man Jack of them which checker was his, and set them problems to work out.

“Suppose I give the signal for the left-guard to take the ball around the right-end,” he would say, and ask each man in turn, “Where would you go?”

Then the backs drew their checkers up to position as interference, and the tackles and guards showed what particular enemies they were to bowl over.  Many ridiculous mistakes were made at first, and each man had a good laugh at the folly of each of the others for some play that left a big hole in the flying protection.  But they could practise at night and worry it out in theory, while their legs rested till the next day’s practice.

When he could find an empty recitation-room at an idle hour, “Professor Tug,” as they soon called him, would gather his class about him and work out the same problems on the blackboards, each man being compelled to draw an arrow from his position at the time of the signal to his proper place when the ball was in play.

The game now became a true science, and the scrub took it up with a new zest.  This indoor drill made it easy also to revive a trick popular at Yale in the ’Eighties—­the giving of one signal to prepare for a series of plays.  Then Tug would call out some eloquent gibberish like “Seventy-’leven-three-teen,” and that meant that on the first down the full-back was to come in on the run, and take the ball through the enemy’s left-guard and tackle; on the second down the right half-back was to crisscross with the left half-back; and on the third down the right-guard was to scoot round the left-end.

The beauty of this old scheme was that it caught the enemy napping:  while he was lounging and waiting for the loud signal, the ball was silently put in play before he was ready.  On the fatal day Tug found that the scheme was well worth the trouble it took.  It has its disadvantages in the long run, but on its first appearance at Kingston it fairly made the varsity team’s eyes pop with amazement.

Tug did not put into play the whole strength of his eleven, but practised cautiously, and instructed his team in the few ruses Clayton seemed to be fond of.  He was looking forward to the occasion when a complete game was to be played before the townspeople between the varsity and the scrub; and Clayton was looking forward to this same day, and promising himself a great triumph when the Academy and the town should see what a rattling eleven he had made up.