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 desk light conveniently near, could read or study at ease. Just now, of course, he was doing neither.

"You fellows want to see 'Cocky' in the morning and take your physical exams. If you don't you can't turn out for practice. You play football, too, I suppose, Bingham?" Billy gave Clif an appraising look that held approval. Clif was tall for his sixteen years and, although lacking weight, didn't look stringy. Of course, Billy reflected, he wasn't First Team material yet, but he looked promising. He seemed alert and might be fast. Billy liked his clean-cut features, and the way his face lighted when he smiled. Rather the sort of fellow, he imagined, who would get along fast and make a name for himself at Wyndham.

"You won't get much more than a lot of hard work this year," Billy continued when Clif had replied affirmatively. He was addressing them both, however. "But you'll be mighty glad next year that you had it. That is, you will if you take your medicine and don't quit because you can't be bloomin' heroes the first thing! That's going to be your trouble, likely, Tom. You'll go off half-cocked some day and resign because the coach doesn't pat you on the back."

"How do you get that way?" asked Tom indignantly. "Don't you suppose they play football anywhere but here? I've played since I was twelve, and I've never quit yet, and I've had some raw deals, too!"

Billy laughed. "You're going to be a lot of fun for me this year, Tom," he said. "You've got quite a lot of new stuff, son."