“No, but you needn’t worry, I guess. A couple of days more will put you
all right.” Turner nodded and hurried back to where “Boots” was making
the line-up. When the squad took the field Clint saw that Cupples had
taken his place at right tackle and that Robbins was at left. This, he
reflected with some satisfaction, was doubtless because Robbins was not
quite so good as he, Clint, and the left of the ‘varsity line was the
strongest. Hinton’s piping voice sang the signals and the squad,
followed by the substitutes, began its journeys up and down the
gridiron. Amy joined Clint presently, still lugging his pewter trophy,
and the two boys leaned back against the seat behind them and looked on.
Clint, when the squad was near enough for him to hear the signal,
translated for Amy’s benefit, as: “Right half outside of left guard.
Watch it!” or “Here’s a forward to Turner, Amy. There he goes! Missed
it, though. That was a punk throw of Martin’s.”