“Funny you didn’t make a success of it!” chuckled Clint.

“The quarter-back just bawls out whatever comes into his head and then he tosses the ball to whichever chap looks as if he was wide enough awake to catch it and that chap makes a break at the line wherever he happens to think he can get through,” continued Amy convincedly.  “All this stuff about signals is rot.  Now we’ll see.  Where’s this play going?”

Clint listened to the signal.  “Full-back straight ahead through centre,” he said.

“What did I tell you?” Amy turned in triumph.  Clint laughed.

“Otis got the signal wrong,” he explained, “and crossed in front of Martin.”

“Oh, certainly!  Yes, indeed!” agreed Amy with deep sarcasm.  “Honest, Clint, I think you really believe that stuff!”

“I have to,” grunted Clint.  “Here it goes right this time.”

The signal was repeated and Martin dashed forward, took the pigskin at a hand-pass and went through the centre.  Amy grunted.  “You just happened to guess it,” he said.  “Where are they going?”

“Over to scrimmage with the ’varsity.  Come along.”

“Would you?” asked Amy doubtfully.  “Somehow I hate to see the ’varsity trampled on and defeated, Clint.  Would you mind asking ‘Boots’ to be merciful today!  Tell him you’ve got a friend with you who’s soft-hearted and hates the sight of blood.”

Amy made himself particularly objectionable during the ensuing half-hour.  The ’varsity was in fine fettle today and ripped the second team wide open for three scores in the two periods played.  Amy pretended to think that every ’varsity success was a second team victory.

“There, that ’varsity fellow has taken the ball across the line, Clint!  Isn’t that great?  How much does that count for the second?  Six, doesn’t it?  My, but your team is certainly playing wonderful football, chum.  What I don’t understand, though, is the—­the appearance of satisfaction displayed by the ’varsity, Clint.  Why is that?  Carmine is patting Kendall on the back just as if he had done something fine!  I suppose, though, that they’re so used to being defeated that they can pretend they’re pleased!  Let me see, that makes the score 13 to for the second, eh?”

“Oh, dry up!” laughed Clint.  “The ’varsity’s having one of its good days, that’s all, and we’re playing pretty rotten.  We have to let them win once in a while.  If we didn’t they might not play with us.  There goes St. Clair in for Still.”

“I hear that Still is fairly punk this Fall,” said Amy.  “Too bad, too, for he was a dandy man last year.  He had some sort of sickness in the Summer, Freer tells me.  Still never said anything about it for fear he’d lose his place.”

“That so?  I’m sorry for Still, for he’s a nice chap, but that St. Clair is surely a wonder, Amy.  He hasn’t any weight to speak of, but he’s the fastest backfield man they’ve got, with the exception of Marvin, maybe.”