would make no gains through him, for he was playing at left guard, though he preferred being back of the line.
"Well, how are we making out," Dick overheard Captain Rutledge asking the coach, one afternoon, following some hard scrimmages.
"Pretty good. That Hamilton is like a brick wall, though. We can't gain a foot through him. I wish we had him on the regular."
"Well, you know what Dutton said."
"Yes, I know, but I don't believe all Dutton says. He's got queer notions. I think Hamilton is every bit as good as he is. Besides, Dutton doesn't play football."
"I know it, but he has lots of influence."
Dick fully subscribed to this, for he knew it was due to Dutton that he was on the scrub instead of on the regular team. But he resolved to have patience.
As Dick walked off the gridiron, following the practice, he was met, before he reached his barracks, by Grit, who had been let out of his kennel in the stables.
"Hello, Grit old fellow!" exclaimed Dick, and the dog nearly dislocated his stump of a tail, so excited was he. Since rejoining his master he had picked up wonderfully. "I've got you for a friend, even if I haven't many others," said Dick, as he bent over to fondle the dog. As he did so he saw some marks on the animal's smooth, satin-like coat, that made him start.
