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“Who’s Watson? Their center?”

“Yes. If they’d given us a couple of decent guards we’d have put it all over that bunch. Burnett isn’t so bad, but Hodgson laid down every time any one looked at him! You didn’t get in, did you? What are you trying for?”

“That’s what I’ve been wondering, Sid.”

“I mean what position.”

“How do I know? End, I suppose. Or half. Search me!”

“Well, you’d better make up your mind. When Coach yells for an end the next time, sing out and race on there. That’s the only way you’ll get a chance. Beat the other fellow to it, Toby.”

“I’d be afraid he’d take me,” answered Toby dryly. “I don’t know any more about playing end than—than you do center!”

Sid grinned. “You watch me, Toby. I’m going to fade Watson before this season’s much older, my child. Honest, I really believe I’ve got a chance to stick this year. Of course, it’s a bit early yet, but——”

“What’s he yelling?” interrupted Toby. Play had paused, a youth was limping to the side-line and Coach Burtis was shouting toward the bench.