under his arm before the coach could reach it. Cavendish, after a stare at the zealous candidate, shrugged his shoulders and walked over toward the field house. There he engaged in conversation with Captain Chester Trask.
Harold, his tired body struggling under the weight of the tackling dummy and a pair of empty water pails, passed by the two mighty ones.
With an effort he straightened his faltering body. He forced a smile into his scratched and bruised face. Looking up into Mike Cavendish's face, Harold said cheerfully through bloody lips to the coach, "We had a dandy workout, didn't we, Coach?"
That was why, a few moments later. Cavendish remarked to Captain Chester Trask, "That kid's got a great spirit. I hate to tell him he can't make the team."
Trask, who had been thinking of the same thing and had arrived at a conclusion, replied, "Why not keep him on the squad as a water boy or something—and let him think he's one of the substitutes?"
"A good idea," Cavendish replied.
"All right," said Trask. "I'll warn the other boys not to disillusion the kid. It won't do any harm."
Trask walked over to where the weary
