Neil was looking for Paul, and presently he discovered him.  He was lying on his back while a rubber was pommeling his neck and shoulders violently and apparently trying to drown him in witch-hazel.  He caught sight of Neil and winked one highly discolored eye.  Neil examined him gravely; Paul grinned.

“There’s a square inch just under your left ear, Paul, that doesn’t appear to have been hit.  How does that happen?”

Paul grinned more generously, although the effort evidently pained him.

“It’s very careless of them, I must say,” Neil went on sternly.  “See that it is attended to in the next half.”

“Don’t worry,” answered Paul, “it will be.”  Neil smiled.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine,” Paul replied.  “I’m just getting limbered up.”

“You look it,” said Neil dryly.  “I suppose by the time your silly neck is broken you’ll be in pretty good shape to play ball, eh?” Simson hurried up, closely followed by Mills.

“How’s the neck?” he asked.

“It’s all right now,” answered Paul.  “It felt as though it had been driven into my body for about a yard.”

“Do you think you can start the next half?” asked Mills anxiously.

“Sure; I can play it through; I’m all right now,” replied Paul gaily.  Mills’s face cleared.

“Good boy!” he muttered, and turned away.  Neil sped after him.

“Mr. Mills,” he called.  The head coach turned, annoyed by the interruption.

“Well, Fletcher; what is it?”

“Can’t I get in for a while, sir?” asked Neil earnestly.  “I’m feeling fine.  Gillam can’t last the game, nor Paul.  I wish you’d let—­”

“See Devoe about it,” answered Mills shortly.  He hurried away, leaving Neil with open mouth and reddening cheeks.

“Well, that’s what I get for disappointing folks,” he told himself.  “Only he needn’t have been quite so short.  What’s the good of asking Devoe?  He won’t let me on.  And—­but I’ll try, just the same.  Paul’s had his chance and there’s no harm now in looking after Neil Fletcher.”

He found Devoe with Foster and one of the coaches.  The latter was lecturing them forcibly in lowered tones, and Neil hesitated to interrupt; but while he stood by undecided Devoe glanced up, his face a pucker of anxiety.  Neil strode forward.

“Say, Bob, get me on this half, can’t you?  Mills told me to see you,” he begged.  “Give me a chance, Bob!”

Devoe frowned impatiently and shook his head.

“Can’t be done, Neil.  Mills has no business sending you to me.  He’s looking after the fellows himself.  I’ve got troubles enough of my own.”

“But if I tell him you’re willing?” asked Neil eagerly.

“I’m not willing,” said Devoe.  “If he wants you he’ll put you on.  Don’t bother me, Neil, for heaven’s sake.  Talk to Mills.”

Neil turned away in disappointment.  It was no use.  He knew he could play the game of his life if only they’d take him on.  But they didn’t know; they only knew that he had been tried and found wanting.  There was no time now to test doubtful men.  Mills and Devoe and Simson were not to be blamed; Neil recognized that fact, but it didn’t make him happy.  He found a seat on a bench near the door and dismally looked on.  Suddenly a conversation near at hand engaged his attention.