It was.

And Clint frequently doubted during the next week that glory had anything to do with it.  When, on Tuesday afternoon, he reported to Mr. Robey, that gentleman cast a speculative look over him, nodded and said briefly:  “See Mr. Detweiler, Thayer.”

Clint sought the assisting coach.  “Mr. Robey told me to report to you, sir.”

“Yes.”  Mr. Detweiler viewed him much as Coach Robey had, as though trying to see not only what showed but what was inside as well.  The only difference was that Mr. Detweiler smiled.  “Well, Thayer, now let’s see.”  He walked to the bench which the players were vacating, Clint following, and seated himself.  “Sit down a minute,” he directed.  And when Clint was beside him he went on.  “I really don’t know much about your playing, Thayer.  We had to have a new tackle and I took you because I liked your looks the other day.  Maybe I ought to have taken one of the others.  What do you think?”

Clint smiled uncertainly.  “I reckon I’m not a fair judge,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation.

“I suppose not.  But tell me, can you play tackle pretty well?”

“I’ve got along all right so far, I think.  Of course, Cupples’s been at it longer than I have, Mr. Detweiler.”

“What in your judgment is the biggest asset a tackle can have, Thayer?”

“Brains, sir.”

“Hm; yes, that’s so.  Now, look here.”  Mr. Detweiler laid a hand on Clint’s knee.  “There’s a fine chance for a fellow who is willing to work and learn on this team.  If you’ll make up your mind to it, you can go right ahead and play tackle against Claflin.  But you’ll have to plug like the dickens, Thayer.  It won’t be any picnic.  I want a chap who is willing to work hard; not only that, but who will take the goad without flinching.  Think you’re the chap?”

“I reckon so,” murmured Clint.  “I’m willing, anyway, sir.”

“You’re not over-enthusiastic,” laughed the coach, “but maybe that’s just as well.  All right, you see what you can do.  Get out there now with the second squad.  Try to show me that I made a good selection, Thayer.  And, by the way, I wish you’d drop around and see me this evening after study.  Can you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.  I’ll look for you, then.  And bring that friend of yours along, if he wants to come.”

“Byrd?”

“Yes, that’s his name, isn’t it?  Tell him I’ll be honoured if he will pardon the informality of the invitation and give me the pleasure of his society from nine to ten.  That’s his style, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”  Clint smiled.  “I think he will be very glad to come, sir.”

“All right.  Now get in there, Thayer, and set your mind on it.  Show what you can do.  I expect you to make mistakes, boy; we can correct those; but if I think for a moment that you’re not trying—­Well, we can’t waste time on you in that case, Thayer.”

Clint reported to Carmine, who was personally conducting the substitutes around the field.  “Hello!” he greeted.  “Tackle, you say?  All right.  Follow along for awhile, will you?  Now then, fellows, get this right!  Gafferty over! 36—­41—­17—­8! 36—­41—­17—­”