through his hair and says he has all he can attend to without bothering with plans. Why, if we had"
But Manager Cotner's speech was rudely interrupted by a football which, wandering erratically off the field, collided violently with the small of his back. By the time he had chased it and returned it at a round-arm throw to Pete Robey he had lost the thread of his discourse. The Scrub Team trotted past at that moment and Dick answered the waving hand of Gordon Merrick who was playing right half on that eleven.
"Want to see you after practice,'" called Gordon. "Don't go away. Important!"
"Me, too!" shouted Will Scott. "I want a ride home just as much as he does, Dick!"
Dick laughed and turned again to George Cotner who was ruffling the leaves of the red-covered memorandum book he carried. "It seems to me," he said, "that some one of the graduates ought to come out and coach."
"Sure, but there aren't any; any who know football well enough to teach it, I mean. And that isn't all, either. A coach has got to know how to get the work out of the fellows, and he's got to be able to plan like a—like a regular planner, and scheme like
