“Oh, Mr. Morton,” was Bayliss’s greeting, as he encountered the coach near the school building steps.

“Yes?” asked the submaster pleasantly.

“I—–­I—–­er—–­I didn’t make the meeting yesterday afternoon, but I guess you might put my name down for the squad.”

“Isn’t this a bit late, Bayliss?” asked the submaster, eyeing the youth keenly.

“Perhaps, a bit,” assented the confident young man.   “However-----”

“At its meeting, last night, Mr. Bayliss, the Athletics Committee of the Alumni Association advised me to consider the squad list closed.”

“Closed?” stammered Bayliss, turning several shades in succession. 
“Closed?   Do---do you mean-----”

“No more additions will be made to the squad this year,” replied the coach quietly, then going inside.

Bayliss stood on the steps, a picture of humiliation and amazement.

“Fellows,” gasped Bayliss, as Prescott and his two chums came along, “did you hear that?  Football list closed?”

“Want some advice?” asked Dick, halting for an instant.

“Yes,” begged Bayliss.

“Never kick a sore toe against a stone wall,” quoth Dick Prescott, and passed on into the school building.

CHAPTER X

TWO GIRLS TURN THE LAUGH

By this time training was going on briskly.  Four days out of every week the squad had to practice for two hours at the athletic field.

There were tours of work in the gym., too.

Besides, it was “early to bed and early to rise” for all members of the squad.

Even those who hoped only to “make second” were under strict orders to let nothing interfere with their condition.

Three mornings in the week Coach Morton met all squad men for either cross-country work or special work in sprinting.  And this was before breakfast, when each man was on honor pledged to take only a pint of hot water—–­nothing more—–­before reporting.  On the other mornings, football aspirants were pledged to run without the coach.

Yet, with all this, studies had to be kept up to a high average, for no man on the “unset” list could hope to be permitted to play football.

Hard work?  Yes.  But discipline, above all.  And discipline is priceless to the young man who really hopes to get ahead in life!

“You’re not playing fair,” Dave cried reproachfully to his chum one day.

“Why not?” Prescott questioned mildly.

“You’re using hair tonic!” Darrin asserted, with mock seriousness, as he gazed at Dick’s bushy mop of football hair.  “You’re growing a regular chrysanthemum for a top piece to your head.”

“Oh, my hair, eh?” smiled Dick.  “Why, you can have as fine a lot of hair if you want to take the trouble.”

“Don’t I want it, though?” retorted Darrin.  “What kind of tonic do you use?”