“Oh,” said Neil, “he’s the head coach, is he?”

“He is, my young friend.  And as he used to be one of the finest half-backs in the country, I guess you’ll see something of him before you make the team.  I dare say he can teach even you something about playing your position.”  Cowan grinned and passed on.

“Oh, go to thunder!” muttered Neil, following him into the building.

He found Mills being introduced by Devoe to such of the new candidates as were on hand.

“You remember Cowan, I guess,” Devoe was saying.  “He played right-guard last year.”  Mills and Cowan shook hands.  “And this is Fletcher, a new man,” continued the captain, “and Gale, too; they’re both Hillton fellows and played at half.  It was Fletcher that made that fine run in the St. Eustace game.  Gale was the captain last year.”

Mills shook hands with each, but beyond a short nod of his head and a brief “Glad to meet you,” displayed no knowledge of their fame.

“Grouchy chap,” commented Paul when, the coach out of hearing, they were changing their clothes.

“Well, he doesn’t hurt himself talking,” answered Neil.  “But he looks as though he knew his business.  His eyes are like little blue-steel gimlets.”

“Doesn’t look much for strength, though,” said Paul.

But when, a few minutes later, Mills appeared on the gridiron in football togs, Paul was forced to alter his opinion.  Chest, arms, and legs were a mass of muscle, and the head coach looked as though he could render a good account of himself against the stiffest line that could be put together.

The practise began with ten minutes of falling on the ball.  The candidates were lined out in two strings across the field, the old men in one, the new material in another.  Neil and Paul were among the latter, and Mills held their ball.  Standing at the right end of the line, he rolled the pigskin in front of and slightly away from the line, and one after another the men leaped forward and flung themselves upon it, missing it at first as often as not, and rolling about on the turf as though suddenly seized with fits.  Neil rather prided himself on his ability to fall on the ball, and went at it like an old stager, or so he thought.  But if he expected commendation he found none.  When the last man had rolled around after the elusive pigskin, Mills went to the other end of the line and did it all over again.

When it came Neil’s turn he plunged out, found the ball nicely, and snuggled it against his breast.  To his surprise when he arose Mills left his place and walked out to him.

“Let’s try that again,” he said.  Neil tossed him the ball and went back to his place.  Mills nodded to him and rolled the pigskin toward him.  Neil dropped on his hip, securing the ball under his right arm.  Like a flash Mills was over him, and with a quick blow of his hand had sent the leather bobbing across the turf yards away.