TRYING FOR THE TEAM
tire, winded. A group of Sophomores guyed him as he waddled past to the field house.
"It's a good game, though," he piped up to the trainer as soon as he got breath enough.
"Are you coming out to-morrow?" he was asked when he came out of the shower bath.
"You bet!" said he.
Simple Simon kept it up. After the trainer had taken about thirty pounds off him he could last a full half, and could keep his feet for several minutes at a time. By and by he learned to get up alone. That was a proud day. The laughing crowds along the side lines cheered him.
"You're a perfect corker, Simple," his chaffing classmates told him.
"A regular Hector Cowan," said another. "You'll make the team yet."
"Aw! come off—you're trying to guy me, I believe," said Simple. He thought himself quite sophisticated by this time. But he grinned and kept on trying. "It's good sport, anyway," he said as he wiped the blood away from his torn ear.
The coaches smiled at his cheerfulness.
257
