Clint tried to pick up the signals, but it was a hopeless task, and it was not until Mr. Robey detailed one of the substitutes to teach him the ’varsity code that he was able to take part in proceedings.  He went in at right tackle for one of the two fifteen-minute periods and, considering that he was still unfamiliar with the shifts and signals, did very well.  No one told him so, to be sure, but he knew without being told, and emerged from the afternoon’s practice thinking that perhaps, after all, playing on the ’varsity was not such a difficult thing as he had imagined it.  But Clint’s troubles hadn’t begun yet.

That evening when he went in to supper he created an unintentional diversion by proceeding, from force of habit, to the second team table.  It was only when he got there and found no seat awaiting him that it dawned on him that he had made a mistake.  The second team fellows broke into a roar of laughter as Clint blankly surveyed them and, turning hurriedly, made his way to the other end of the room.  The rest of the fellows sensed the situation after a moment and Clint passed table after table of amused faces.  Amy, grinning delightedly, reached far across the board where he sat and, pointing at Clint with a baked potato impaled on a fork, announced loudly:  “A contretemps, Mr. Thayer, a veritable contretemps!” Clint was blushing when he finally reached the first of the tables occupied by the ’varsity players and found a vacant chair.  There, too, amused glances awaited him, and he was heartily glad when Freer laughingly pulled him into the seat beside him.

They got a half-hour’s leave from the Hall Master after supper, which allowed them to remain out of the dormitory until half-past ten, and, as soon as study hour was over, set out for the village and Mr. Detweiler’s.  When they reached his room in the little boarding house they found Mr. Boutelle there, but he left almost at once.  Mr. Detweiler made them comfortable, apologising for the unattractiveness of his quarters.

“The fact is, fellows,” he explained, “I didn’t expect to stay over the week when I came, and so brought nothing but a kit-bag.  But Robey thinks I ought to see him through, and, to tell the truth, I’m rather keen to myself.  You don’t play the noble game of football, Byrd?”

“No, sir,” replied Amy modestly.  “You see, I developed at the wrong end.”  He tapped his forehead significantly.

“That’s hard on you and me, Thayer,” laughed the coach.  “Well, what do you do for exercise?

“Tennis, some.”

“He won the singles championship this Fall, sir,” explained Clint.

“Really?  That’s fine.  I’m a bit of a tennis enthusiast myself.  Played on the team three years in college.  Some before that.  Tennis was about the only thing we specialised in when I was here.  By the way, did you get into difficulties over the disciplining of that fellow, whatever his name is?”