“Get the interference,” cried Turner.

But it wasn’t to happen that way, for Edwards had circled around and, even as Turner issued his command, Edwards and Kendall went over together in a heap and the ball settled into Carmine’s arms.  Turner leaped toward him, Carmine swayed aside and Turner went past.  It was Clint who hurled himself at the quarter, wrapped eager arms about his knees and toppled him to earth so savagely that the pigskin bounded out of his clutch.  There was a scramble for the ball, but Tyler, the second’s right tackle, got it and reached the twenty-yard line before he was pulled down from behind.

“That’s the way to tackle, Thayer!” Clint, trotting down the field to the new line-up, turned to find Coach Robey beside him.  “That was good work,” commended the coach.  “Keep it up.”

The ’varsity made some changes then.  Kendall went out and was replaced by Freer, Still gave way to St. Clair, and Gafferty went in for Hall at right guard.  The fresh players saved the day for the ’varsity, for, although the second finally reached the twelve yards, it could go no further, and Captain Turner’s try at a place-kick went a yard under the cross-bar.  And that ended the practice for the day.

In the locker-room Turner sought Clint out and said several nice things about his playing, ending with:  “Guess we’ll have to have you on the second, Thayer.  You report to me tomorrow.”

That undoubtedly was the turning point in Clint’s football career for that year, for three days later the second cut came and the third squad ceased to be.  Some fifteen fellows retired to private life or to their Hall teams and the rest were gathered into the second or went to the ’varsity to be tried out as substitutes.  Clint was pretty certain that, had it not been for that Tuesday performance, he would have been one of the unfortunate fifteen.

Amy pretended to view Clint’s advancement to the second team with alarm.  “First thing I know,” he said gloomily, “I’ll be rooming with a regular Greek.  You’ll be having photographs taken to show your superb physical development, I dare say, and writing letters to the Bulletin signed ‘Athlete.’  As a matter of fact, Clint, I happened to see that performance this afternoon and you didn’t fool me a bit.  You tackled Carmine because he was in the way and you ran into him and put your arms around him to keep from falling on your nose.  It was no brilliancy of yours that made the poor chap fumble the ball.  You hit him like a load of bricks!  If I’d been Carmine I’d have up and biffed you one!  You were—­were distinctly ungentlemanly, Clint.  You should remember that even in football there are limits.  To deliberately try to kill an opponent, as you did today, is not considered good form.  Besides, Carmine’s a friend of mine.  We come from the same metropolis.  It would be a very painful thing if I had to write home to his folks that he had been killed on the field of battle by my room-mate.  A most painful and embarrassing duty for me, Clint.”