Neil returned to practise that afternoon, his right shoulder protected by a wonderful leather contrivance which was the cause of much good-natured fun.  He didn’t get near the line-up, however, but was allowed to take part in signal practise, and was then set to kicking goals from placement.  If the reader will button his right arm inside his coat and try to kick a ball with accuracy he will gain some slight idea of the difficulty which embarrassed Neil.  When work was over he felt as though he had been trying, he declared, to kick left-handed.  But he met with enough success to demonstrate that, given opportunity for practise, one may eventually learn to kick goals minus anything except feet.

That happened to be one of Paul’s “off days,” and the way he played exasperated the coaches and alarmed him.  He could not hide from himself the evident fact that Gillam was outplaying him five days a week.  With the return of Neil, Paul expected to be ousted from the position of left half, and the question that worried him was whether he would in turn displace Gillam or be sent back to the second eleven.  He was safe, however, for several days more, for Simson still laughed at Neil’s demand to be put into the line-up, and he was determined that before the Yale game he would prove himself superior to Gillam.

The following morning, Friday, Mills was seated at the desk in his room making out a list of players who were to participate in the Robinson game.  According to the agreement between the rival colleges such lists were required to be exchanged not later than two weeks prior to the contest.  The players had been decided upon the evening before by all the coaches in assembly, and his task this morning was merely to recopy the list before him.  He had almost completed the work when he heard strange sounds outside his door.  Then followed a knock, and, in obedience to his request, Sydney Burr pushed open the door and swung himself in on his crutches.

The boy’s face was alight with eagerness, and his eyes sparkled with excitement; there was even a dash of color in his usually pale cheeks.  Mills jumped up and wheeled forward an easy-chair.  But Sydney paid no heed to it.

“Mr. Mills,” he cried exultantly, “I think I’ve got it!”

“Got what?” asked the coach.

“The play we want,” answered Sydney, “the play that’ll stop Robinson!”

CHAPTER XV

AND TELLS OF A DREAM

Mills’s face lighted up, and he stretched forth an eager hand.

“Good for you, Burr!  Let’s see it.  Hold on, though; sit down here first and give me those sticks.  There we are.  Now fire ahead.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to tell you all about it first, before I show you the diagram,” said Sydney, his eyes dancing.

“All right; let’s hear it,” replied the head coach smiling.

“Well,” began Sydney, “it’s been a puzzler.  After I’d seen the second playing tackle-back I about gave up hopes of ever finding a—­an antidote.”