The High School Left End Part 17

CHAPTER X

TWO GIRLS TURN THE LAUGH

By this time training was going on briskly. Four days out of every week the squad had to practice for two hours at the athletic field.

There were tours of work in the gym., too.

Besides, it was "early to bed and early to rise" for all members of the squad.

Even those who hoped only to "make second" were under strict orders to let nothing interfere with their condition.

Three mornings in the week Coach Morton met all squad men for either cross-country work or special work in sprinting. And this was before breakfast, when each man was on honor pledged to take only a pint of hot water---nothing more---before reporting.

On the other mornings, football aspirants were pledged to run without the coach.

Yet, with all this, studies had to be kept up to a high average, for no man on the "unset" list could hope to be permitted to play football.

Hard work? Yes. But discipline, above all. And discipline is priceless to the young man who really hopes to get ahead in life!

"You're not playing fair," Dave cried reproachfully to his chum one day.

"Why not?" Prescott questioned mildly.

"You're using hair tonic!" Darrin a.s.serted, with mock seriousness, as he gazed at d.i.c.k's bushy mop of football hair. "You're growing a regular chrysanthemum for a top piece to your head."

"Oh, my hair, eh?" smiled d.i.c.k. "Why, you can have as fine a lot of hair if you want to take the trouble."

"Don't I want it, though?" retorted Darrin. "What kind of tonic do you use?"

"Grease," smiled Prescott.

"Nothing but grease?"

"Nothing much."

"What kind of grease?"

"Elbow!"

"Now, stop your jos.h.i.+ng," ordered Dave promptly. "No kind of muscular work is going to bring out a fuzzy rug like that on anyone's skypiece."

"But that's just how I do it," d.i.c.k insisted. "Not a bit hard, either. See here! Just use your finger tips, briskly, like this, and stir your whole scalp up with a brisk ma.s.sage."

"How long do you keep it up?" demanded Dave, after following suit for some time.

"Oh, about ninety seconds, I guess," nodded Prescott. "You want to do it eight times a day, and wash your head weekly, though with bland soap and not too much of it."

"Is that honestly all you do to get a Siberian fur wig such as you're wearing?"

"That's all I do," replied d.i.c.k. "Except---yes; there's one thing more. Go out of doors all you can without a hat."

"The active curry-comb and the vanished hat for mine, then," muttered Dave, with another envious look at d.i.c.k's bushy hair.

Nor did Dave rest until the other chums all had the secret. By the time that the football season opened d.i.c.k & Co. were the envy of the school for their heavy heads of hair.

With all the hard work of training, Coach Morton did not intend that the young men should be so busy as to have no time for recreation.

He understood thoroughly the value of the lighter, happier moments in keeping an athlete's nervous system up to concert pitch.

Though the baseball training of the preceding spring had been "stiff" enough, d.i.c.k & Co. soon found that the football training was altogether more rugged.

In fact, Coach Morton, with the aid of Dr. Bentley as medical director, weeded out a few of the young men after training had been going on for a fortnight. Some failed to show sufficient reserve "wind" after running. A few other defectives proved not to have hearts strong enough for the grilling work of the gridiron.

All the members of d.i.c.k & Co., however, managed to keep in the squad. In fact, hints soon began to go around, mysteriously, that d.i.c.k & Co. were having the benefit of some outside training.

Purcell came to young Prescott and asked him frankly about this report.

"Nothing in it," d.i.c.k replied promptly. "We're having just the same training as the rest of the boys. But I'll tell you a secret."

"Go on!" begged Purcell eagerly.

"You know the training rules---early retiring and all?"

"Yes; of course."

"Well, we fellows are sticking to orders like leeches. Every night, to the minute, we're in bed. We make a long night's sleep of it. Then, besides, we don't slight a single particle of the training work that we're told to do by ourselves. We've agreed on that, and have promised each other. Now, do you suppose all the fellows are sticking quite as closely to coach's orders?"

"I---I---well, perhaps they're not," agreed Purcell.

"Are you?" insisted d.i.c.k.

"In the _main_, I do."

"Oh," observed Prescott, with mild sarcasm. "'In the main'!

Now, see here, Purcell, we High School fellows are fortunate in having one of the very best coaches that ever a High School squad did have. Mr. Morton knows what he's doing. He knows how to bring out condition, and how to teach the game. He lays down the rules that furnish the sole means of success at football.

And you---one of our most valuable fellows---are following some of his instructions---when they don't conflict with your comfort or with your own ideas about training. Now, honestly, what do you know about training that is better than Coach Morton's information on that very important subjects"

"Oh, come, now; you're a little bit too hard, Prescott," argued Purcell. "I do about everything just as I'm told."

"You admit Mr. Morton's ability, don't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then why don't you stick to every single rule that's laid down by a man who knows what he is doing? It will be better for your condition, won't it, Purcell?"

"Yes, without a doubt."

"And what is better for you is better for the team and for the school, isn't its"