"What's the difference?" demanded Tom. "Sim would do the same thing if the pass was direct to the runner. He's got to learn to keep his shoulder out of sight. Either that or quit! Say, I've known backs who gave the play away by shifting or moving their feet or something, but this is the first time I ever heard of a quarter giving the other team a starting signal! Heck, wouldn't that jar you?"
"Well, I'm glad we know what's wrong," said Clif thankfully. "To-morrow—"
"To-morrow! Say, I've got to see 'Cocky'!" Tom jumped for the door. "Loring, you win the spun glass crow-bar, old son! See you later!"
Then the door slammed.
Three minutes later Tom was enlightening a surprised, relieved and somewhat chagrined "Cocky." But after several minutes of explanations and questions and comments the coach suddenly looked puzzled. "But look here, Kemble. An hour ago you didn't know any more than I did. How does it happen you come along now and—"
"Loring Deane," said Tom. "Let me tell you about him, sir."
So Tom told, ending with: "Two or three things I spoke to you about weren't my ideas at all. They were his. I wasn't trying to swipe the credit for them, Mr. Babcock, but I thought you'd think I was sort of crazy if I told you about Loring. Heck, I only did it because the poor guy wanted to get in on football. He's a regular nut, sir. Then, blamed if he didn't
