I'm versatile, I am, Dick! Say, honest, do you suppose Lanny'll give me a show?"
"If you show him," laughed Dick. "Seems, though, you might be a bit inexperienced for the First, Fudge."
"I don't expect to get on the First—this year. I want to make the Scrub Team. They say you get a lot of fun on the Scrub. Experience, too. They can't say I'm too light, anyway!"
"No, you're not that," agreed Dick as, having stopped the engine, he secured his crutches, placed the tips on the ground and swung himself from the car in the wake of Fudge. "Hope you have luck, anyway."
Once past the gate Fudge, with a startled "They've begun, Dick!" scurried off, leaving Dick to make his way toward where a small group of fellows were standing along the side line watching the first practice of the season. Returning greetings, Dick paused and looked around him. The gridiron had been freshly marked out and the creamy-white lines shone brilliantly in the afternoon sunlight against the green turf. Down near the west goal the First Squad was jogging about in signal practice in charge of Chester Cottrell, last year's quarter. Dick noted
