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A five-minute rest followed, during which the coach and the trainer and Grover Beech lectured and criticized, and then, with many changes in each line-up, the scrimmage began again. Toby still decorated a bench, looking rather colorful with his red thatch obtruding from a blue blanket. Toby had dutifully watched the efforts of the players, but it cannot be truthfully said that he learned much. Perhaps he was too attentive to the performance and fortunes of Sid Creel at center on Team B. Sid appeared to be playing his position rather well, Toby thought, although he didn’t pretend to be anything of a judge. At least, Sid lasted longer than most fellows of his team, returning breathless to the bench only when the last period was more than half over. He squirmed into a place beside Toby, pulling a blanket about his broad shoulders.

“I guess he didn’t have much on me,” Sid panted, “if he is ten pounds heavier!”

“Who?” asked Toby.

“Watson. He didn’t get past me once, and I turned him twice. Did you notice?”