Eleven men stood out from the rest and lined up in a team.
"Six, eight, fifteen!" he shouted.
The team went through the pantomime of a fierce mass on centre.
"Four, fifteen, twenty-two."
The team swirled around in an end-run.
Then he hurled signals at them, and, in quick succession, with a tangle here and there, it is true, they went through an entire repertory—cross tackle bucks, straight openings, tandems, kangaroos, revolving masses, double and delayed passes, fake kicks. They massed and bucked the air about as if it offered no resistance. It was beautiful to see.
"And now, behold!" said the engineer of this fine performance, pausing solemnly.
He drew a line in the earth with his heel and placed the ball upon it. The quarterback took his position near the ball and the rest of the team gathered some twenty yards away.
"Five, twenty-four, six X!" barked the Maestro.
There was a rapid movement among the men, and then they shot out in a long V. On the walk at first, then on the trot, then at full gallop the V swept down toward the line. The quarterback stooped, picked up the ball, and dexterously passed it as the formation thundered down upon him. The ball disappeared,
