"Want more, eh?" asked Sawyer. "All right, kid!" The clasp on his neck tightened again and he felt himself being once more thrust downward. And then, suddenly, he was free, and when, fighting his way back to the surface, he looked dazedly, there was Tom clinging to Sawyer's neck, thrashing and squirming.

"You let him be, you big bully!" Tom was saying. "You let him be!"

"Let go of my neck, you silly little fool!" gasped Sawyer, striving to break the boy's hold.

"You let him be!" gurgled Tom, half-drowned but clinging like a limpet. "You let him be, you big bully!"

Then the two went under and Steve, recovering his breath, wrenched them apart somehow and pulled poor Tom to the side of the tank. Sawyer, breathing with difficulty after Tom's choking grasp about his neck, floundered to the edge, got a sustaining grip on the rim of the tank and glared angrily at the two boys.

"I'll get you for this, you smart Alecks," he declared chokingly. "You're too fresh, both of you. Don't you know better than to grab a fellow around the neck in the water, you fool kid?"

But Tom was too far gone to answer. "That's what you did, isn't it?" Steve demanded. "That's a funny way to talk!"

"It is, is it?" sneered Sawyer. "I'll show you something that is funny some time, and don't you forget it!"

Still growling, he swam away toward the nearer ladder, while Steve, with Roy and Harry and others helping, lifted Tom out of the tank and then followed himself. Tom was very, very sick there for a minute and the younger fellows were properly sympathetic and indignant. Presently they half carried Tom back to the locker room and helped him into his clothes, and then, Roy and Harry in attendance, Steve conveyed him back to Billings and laid him on his bed, a very weak but now quite cheerful Tom.

"He nearly drowned me, didn't he?" he asked with a grin. "But I choked him good, you bet! Bet you his old neck will be sore for a week, fellows!"

"You want to keep away from him for awhile," said Harry with a direful shake of his head. "He's a mean chap when he's mad."

"Huh!" grunted Tom. "So'm I!"

CHAPTER XIV
A LESSON IN TACKLING

One direct result of that affair in the tank was that Steve found himself something of a school celebrity because of his swimming prowess. Within a few days he had good-naturedly agreed to give instruction to some half-dozen acquaintances and might have taken on a half-dozen more had he had the time for it. But there was only an odd hour or two during the day for swimming and he soon found that, although he got a good deal of fun out of instructing the others, it was taking too much of his time. It was Roy's suggestion—Roy being one of the most enthusiastic pupils—that those who wanted instruction should be on hand at a given hour each day. The suggestion was adopted, and Edwards's Swimming Class soon became a recognised institution. Five o'clock was the hour set, at which time the tank was not much used, and Steve, having returned from football practice, donned swimming trunks and repaired to the pool where he usually found from four to a dozen boys awaiting him, since, by attending to them all at once, he could look after a dozen as easily as a few. Most of the pupils were boys of from thirteen to seventeen, although there were two older fellows in the class, Jay Fowler and Hatherton Williams. Both were Sixth Formers and both were football men. Mr. Conklin, the physical director, gave enthusiastic endorsement and encouragement. Brimfield had never supplied instruction in swimming, something which the director had long regretted, and Mr. Conklin, could he have had his way, would have made attendance at Steve's swimming class compulsory for the younger boys and so have instituted a new feature in the course of physical instruction. But Steve, willing to teach a few fellows who could already swim the finer points of the science, balked at teaching the rudiments to a half-hundred water-shy youths who would have to be coaxed and coddled. Mr. Conklin tried his best to persuade him, but Steve refused firmly.

They had a whole lot of fun during that swimming hour. Fowler and a younger chap named Toll were the more accomplished performers in the class, barring Steve himself, and every session ended with several very earnest races in which Fowler, allowing Toll a five-yard handicap, usually nosed out the younger boy in a contest of four times the length of the tank. Then there was generally a free-for-all, the fellows lining up on the edge of the pool, diving at the word from Steve and swimming to the further end, where, after touching the wall, they turned and hustled back to the start. Sometimes when football practice had been more than usually gruelling, Steve stayed out of the water and instructed from the floor, but more often he went in with the others and followed them in their practice swims. Naturally it was the fancy diving and the racing strokes that most of the fellows wanted to learn, but Steve, who had never in his life before tried to teach anyone anything, displayed a good deal of hard common-sense as an instructor and insisted that each of his pupils should master one thing thoroughly before taking up another. The result was that, barring one or two fellows who would probably in any case have failed to become expert swimmers, the class made really remarkable progress, and there came a time, although it was considerably later in the school year, when both Jay Fowler and Hatherton Williams could equal most of Steve's feats.

Tom started with the class, wisely deciding after his experience with Eric Sawyer that the ability to keep one's head out of water was a fine thing to have. But Tom was not cut out for a human fish and soon gave it up. Roy Draper learned fairly well. He tried to induce Harry to join the class, but Harry preferred to stay with Tom and look on from the floor. When winter set in, Steve's class increased in numbers until in January he was conducting the natatory education of more than two dozen fellows. It was Mr. Conklin who arranged for an exhibition the latter part of the winter and Steve was very proud of his pupils' work on that occasion. It was held one Saturday afternoon and everyone attended, including even "Josh," more formally known as Mr. Joshua Fernald, the principal. There was fancy diving and swimming, a short game of water polo and all kinds of races, beside which Steve showed some six or eight different strokes, swam the length of the tank under water and performed other quite startling feats to the delight of his audience. Mr. Fernald shook hands with him afterwards and said several very nice things. But all this is far beyond my story, and I am only telling of it because it led the following autumn to the installation of a swimming instructor at Brimfield and the addition of swimming to the list of "required studies" for the boys of the four lower forms. The instructor came to the school twice a week and put in two very busy hours there. So you see that fracas between Steve and Eric Sawyer that evening strangely enough resulted in important consequences and, since a knowledge of swimming is a most useful one, worked for good.

But there were other consequences of that fracas as well, and I must get back to those. Larchville Academy followed Miter Hill on Brimfield's schedule and administered the first defeat of the season to the Maroon-and-Grey. It wasn't so much that Brimfield played poorly as that Larchville played unusually well. The visitors presented an aggregation of big, well-trained youths who, most of them having been on their team the previous year, were far in advance of Brimfield in the matter of season development. Larchville's performance was what one might expect in November, but scarcely looked for in the second week of October. Her men played together all the time and her team-work stood out in strong contrast to that of Brimfield, who had scarcely begun as yet to develop such a thing. The final score was 17 to 3, and the only consolation was found in the fact that Larchville's end of it might well have been much larger. Brimfield's three points came as the result of one really brilliant advance for half the length of the field followed by a neat place-kick by Williams. The rest of the game was very much Larchville, and Brimfield was on the defence most of the time.

And, to give credit where it belongs, it was Eric Sawyer who, back in his position at right guard, held his side of the line firm on two anxious occasions when Larchville was striving to hammer out touchdowns under the shadow of her opponent's goal. On the whole, Brimfield played good football that day and no one justly came in for adverse criticism. Captain Miller, at left end, was spectacular under punts and played his usual hard, steady game. Innes at centre was impregnable until the final period. Williams, if a trifle weaker than his opponent, made up for it by scoring the three points for his side. Benson, at right end, was less successful than Captain Miller, but was good on the defence. The back-field, although inclined to go it "every man for himself," showed up well, especially when the enemy was in possession of the ball. Milton, the first-choice quarter-back, ran the team like a general, while Norton, the big full-back, proved the only consistent gainer through the line. In spite of the fact that she had met with defeat, Brimfield found encouragement in that contest, and, after the first few minutes of regrets, spent the rest of the day unstintedly praising her warriors.

There was only light practice the following Monday for those who had taken part in the Saturday game, a fact which once more allowed Coach Robey to give a good deal of attention to the second and third squads. Steve was playing right end regularly now on the third, and Tom was alternating at left guard on the second. The third squad was now down to only eleven members, and when, after a hard hour of signal work and fundamentals, the second and third were lined up for a ten-minute scrimmage, Marvin had to borrow substitutes as needed from the second. There was no scoring that day, but there was an awful lot of hard work. Steve made one or two good plays down the field, but, as usual, was weak on stopping the runner when he reached him. After they were dismissed, Marvin stopped him as he was trotting off with the others.

"I say, Edwards, are you very tired?" he asked.

"N-no, I guess not," Steve replied.

"Then I wish you'd stay out a few minutes and let me try to show you about tackling." Steve glanced distastefully at the dummy and doubtfully at Marvin. But the latter smiled and shook his head. "Never mind the dummy, Edwards," he said. "We'll have our fun right here. I'm going to be the dummy and you're to stop me. Did they take all the balls away? Never mind, we'll imagine the ball. Now, first of all I'm going to show you how I'd handle you if you were the runner. Stand where you are, please."

Marvin dropped in front of Steve and threw his arms about his legs just above the knees. "There's your position, Edwards," he explained. "You see I have my body in front of you. You've not only got to work against my grip around your legs but you've got to push against my weight and resistance. Try it."

Steve did try it, but he could only shuffle an inch or two.

"See?" asked Marvin. "Now, then, having tackled you, it's up to me to put you down. If I let you come forward of your own impetus you'll fall toward my goal, and by stretching out your arms you'll put the ball two yards nearer the goal than where you stand. Of course you wouldn't risk holding the ball at arms' length unless there was a possibility of getting it across a goal-line by doing it. But even if you hold the ball at your stomach you'll gain a yard by falling forward. Now my play is to throw you the other way—like this!"

With a heave Marvin sent Steve toppling backward, much to that youth's surprise. Marvin jumped lightly to his feet, held out a hand to the other and pulled him up.

"See how it's done?" he asked cheerfully. "Now you try it. Never mind diving; just drop where you are on your hip. That's it! Swing your arms around tight! Higher up, though. Remember if you're playing end the rules prohibit you from tackling a runner below the knees. That's better. Now, then, over with me!"

But it wasn't so easy. Marvin, smuggling an imaginary ball in his arms, struggled and twisted and it was all Steve could do to keep him from gaining ground, to say nothing of throwing him back.

"Lift!" instructed the quarter-back. "Lift me up and yank my feet out from under me! Use your weight and throw me back!"

But in trying to lift the other, Steve allowed Marvin to slip past him and the quarter fell forward instead of backward.

"Try again," said Marvin. "It's got to be all one motion, so to say, Edwards. Get your man, wrap your arms around him and heave. Sometimes you can't do better than stop him. If he's coming hard, you won't be able to put him back. He's got to be more or less erect to make that go. But do it whenever you can. Now, then, once more! Down you go! That's the stuff! Bully work! Don't be afraid of hurting me! Put me back!"

Steve actually did it that time and was so pleased that he was grinning all over his face when Marvin scrambled to his feet again.

"That was a lot better. Once get the idea fixed in your head, Edwards, and it'll come easy. You'll do it without a thought. Once more now, and put some ginger into it. Here I come!"

Marvin walked a couple of steps forward, Steve dropped and gripped his knees, heaved and over went the quarter. A dozen times Marvin made him practise it, and then,

"All right," he said. "Now I'm going to run toward you, Edwards. I'm going to get by you if I can, too. You've got to do your best to stop me. Don't try any flying tackles, and remember that you've got to have one foot on the ground when you get me. All right now!"

Steve was glad they had the gridiron practically to themselves, for he cut a poor figure the first three times that he tried to reach the elusive quarter-back. Once Marvin caught him with a straight arm and sent him toppling out of his path, once Marvin dodged him completely, twirling on one heel and darting past him beyond reach, and once the little quarter-back wrenched himself loose after being tackled. But the fourth time Steve was more successful, and after that he reached the runner every time even if he didn't always stop him short. Even when Steve had his arms gripped tightly about Marvin's knees, the latter was almost always able to somehow make another yard or two before he was willing to call "Down!" But Steve learned more in that half-hour than he had learned all the season, and when, after awhile, the two boys, panting and perspiring but satisfied with themselves, walked back to the gymnasium, Steve had the grace to thank Marvin.

"That's all right," replied the other. "I knew you could play the game, Edwards, if you could once get the hang of making a decent tackle. And I knew, too, that the trouble with you was that you'd just sort of made up your mind that you couldn't learn, that you didn't understand what I've been trying to show you. There won't be any third squad after the middle of the week, Edwards, and if you hadn't shown something more than you've been showing in the tackling line I couldn't conscientiously have sent you up to the second."

"That was mighty decent," muttered Steve.

"Well, you mustn't take it as a personal favour, Edwards," answered Marvin with a smile, "although I'm glad to do it for you. You see, I don't want to let any good material get away. And I think you are good material, and if there was any possibility of your being of use to the second squad I wanted to get you there. Now, to-morrow we'll have another go at it, and the next day too, and every day until you can tackle a runner as well as you can handle a ball or play in the line. Is that a bargain?"

"Yes," replied Steve heartily. "And thanks, Marvin."

CHAPTER XV
STEVE WINNOWS SOME CHAFF

Two days later the third squad ceased to be and all but four of its members retired to private life. Of those four, one was Steve. Steve went on to the second team as substitute end. With him went Carmine, Peters and Saunders, while from the second a batch of half-a-dozen youths disappeared. That was the eighteenth of October. The candidates who had survived this final cut were safe to finish the season out. Of them some twenty-four were on the 'varsity and sixteen on the second. The preliminary season was ended, and with the next game, that with Benton Military College, which was to be played at Hastings-on-Sound, the serious work might be said to begin.

The second, under Brownell, became a separate aggregation, moved to its own training table in the dining-hall, had its own signals and practised on its own gridiron. It even had its own coach, for a graduate named Boutelle—soon shortened to "Boots"—appeared on the scene and took command. "Boots" was a rather large man of thirty-odd years who had graduated from Brimfield before the days of football there. He had learned the game very thoroughly, however, at college, and was enthusiastically eager to impart his knowledge. He was a friend of Mr. Robey, and it was understood that he was giving his services as a favour to the head coach. But it was soon evident that he was thoroughly enjoying it, and he entered into his task with heart and soul. In fact he was so anxious to develop a good team that one of the first things he did was to unwittingly fall foul of the faculty. The third day there he announced that until further notice there would be morning practice between ten and twelve for all who could attend it. Morning practice lasted one day. Then faculty drew the attention of Mr. Boutelle to the rule which forbade the use of the athletic field to students during recitation hours. Mr. Boutelle was disgusted and tried to argue about it with the principal, but had to give in finally. But in spite of being required to limit practice to the afternoon hours, the second came fast and there were some very pretty games between it and the 'varsity in those days.

Steve started in as a second choice right end, a chap named Sherrard having first claim to the position. Tom was plugging along at right guard and doing well. He was a trifle light for the place, but he was a steady player and a heady one and it took him less than a fortnight to oust his rival from the position. Tom was a surprise both to himself and to Steve. Steve had never taken his chum very seriously as a football player, probably because Tom was not the spectacular sort, but he was forced to acknowledge now that the latter had beaten him at his own game!

The members of the second didn't see the Benton game for the reason that "Boots" wouldn't consider it at all. What, waste an afternoon looking on when they might be holding practice? Not if he knew it! But the absence of some sixteen members of the second team didn't keep Brimfield from being well represented at that contest, for most every other fellow in school journeyed across to Hastings-on-Sound with the 'varsity and witnessed a very good, if in one way unsatisfactory, game. For Brimfield and Benton tussled with each other through four ten-minute periods without a score. Perhaps Benton had slightly the better of the argument, although not many Brimfieldians would acknowledge it. At least, it is true that Benton came nearer to scoring than her adversary when, on Brimfield's five-yard line, she lost possession of the ball by a fumble. On the other hand, Brimfield tried one field-goal from an impossible angle and missed.

The next Monday, with several of the regulars out of the 'varsity line-up, the second won a 6 to 0 victory, and "Boots," choosing to ignore the 'varsity's weakness on that occasion, requested the second to observe what could be accomplished by making the most of their opportunities to practice! The fellows, quite as well pleased as their coach, although not taking to themselves so much credit as he accorded them, smiled, and said, "Yes, sir," very politely and winked amongst themselves. But they liked "Boots"; liked him for his enthusiasm and for the tireless energy he displayed in their behalf. If you can't make the 'varsity it is at least something to be able to help develop it, and that is what the second was doing, very loyally and gladly. And when in the process of aiding in its development it was possible to beat it, the second shook hands with itself and was cock-o'-the-walk for days after!

Steve, like most others on the second, had relinquished hope of getting on the 'varsity. A month ago he would have scornfully refused to consider anything less than a position on the first team, but Steve had had his eyes opened not a little. There was a difference between the sort of football played by Brimfield and the kind played by the Tannersville High School team, and Steve now recognised the fact. Perhaps he secretly still thought himself deserving of a place on the 'varsity—frankly, I think he did—but whereas a month ago he would not have hesitated to make the fact known, he had since learned that at Brimfield it was not considered good form to blow your own horn, as the saying is.

But if he was disappointed at falling short of the final goal of his ambition, he was nevertheless having a very good time on the second. There was a lot of fine fellows there and the spirit of camaraderie was strong, and grew stronger as the season progressed. The second was perhaps almost as proud of their organisation as was the 'varsity of theirs, and when, the week after the Benton game, they once defeated and twice tied the other team, you might have thought they had vanquished Claflin, so haughty and stuck-up did they become!

Steve played under a severe handicap that week, for once more he and "Uncle Sim" were at outs. With Mr. Daley's assistance and encouragement, and by a really earnest period of application on his own part, he had successfully weathered the previous storm and had even been taken into Mr. Simkins' good graces. But football is a severe taskmaster, if one allows it to become such, and what with a strong desire to distinguish himself on the second—animated to some extent by the wish to show Mr. Robey what he had missed for the 'varsity—and a commendable effort to profit by Marvin's teaching, he had soon begun to ease up on his Greek and Latin, which were for him the most difficult of his courses. And now "Uncle Sim" was down on him again, as Steve put it, and on the eve of the Cherry Valley contest he was in a fair way to have trouble with the Office. Mr. Simkins' patience, perhaps never very long, was about exhausted. He had reason on his side, however, for Steve was by no means the only student who was in difficulties at that time. On Friday morning Mr. Simkins had indulged in sarcasm.

"Well, well," he said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands, "I dare say it is too much to require you young gentlemen to study when it is such fine weather for football. What a pity it is that lessons and play conflict, is it not, Wilson?"

Wilson was too canny to make audible reply, however, and the instructor proceeded blandly.

"I wonder if Mr. Fernald would postpone recitations until after you have finished football for the year. I think I'll suggest it to him. For, really, you know, this sort of thing is only wasting my time; and yours too, young gentlemen, for you might be out kicking a leather-covered bag of wind around the ground instead of sitting here cudgelling your poor brains—eh? Let us say heads, rather. The evidence is too slight to warrant the use of the first word—cudgelling your heads, then, trying to 'fake' lessons you've never looked at. I sympathise with you deeply. I commiserate. I—I am almost moved to tears. My heart goes out to you, young gentlemen."

Mr. Simkins looked so sad and woebegone that the older boys, who knew him well, trembled in their shoes. The room was very silent. With Mr. Simkins the storm was always in proportion to the calm, and the present calm was indeed portentous. The instructor fought for a moment with his emotions. Then he sighed.

"Well, until we have permission to discard recitations, I presume we must go on with them, such as they are." His gaze roved sympathetically over the class, most of whom showed a strong desire to escape his attention. Finally, "Edwards," he said softly and, as it seemed to Steve, maliciously, "let us proceed with the dull and untimely lesson. Kindly translate the tiresome utterances of this ignorant man who preferred wisdom and eloquence to athletics and football, Edwards. You may begin where your—hm—brilliant predecessor regretfully left off. For the moment, pray, detach your thoughts from the verdant meadows and the sprightly football, Edwards. And—ah—don't, please don't tell me that you are not prepared. Somehow that phrase afflicts my ears, Edwards, and were you to make use of it I should, I fear, be driven to—ah—strong measures. Now, Edwards, if you will be so kind."

Well, Steve was not prepared, as it happened, but he knew better than to say so, and, putting on an expression of confidence and pleasure as though Mr. Simkins had offered him the rarest of privileges, he plunged bravely into a paragraph of Cicero's Orations. But it was hard going and he was soon stumbling and hesitating, casting about desperately for words. A long, deep sigh travelled from the platform.

"That will do, Edwards," said Mr. Simkins sorrowfully. "Your rendering is novel and interesting. It is, possibly, an improvement on the original matter, but the question very naturally arises, Edwards, whether we have the right to improve on Cicero. Of course he had his limitations, Edwards, and his faults, and yet"—Mr. Simkins shook his head slowly and thoughtfully—"on the whole, Edwards, I think perhaps we should accept him as we find him, viewing his faults with a leniency becoming great minds, tolerating much, Edwards, for the sake of the—ah—occasional golden kernel to be detected in his mass of chaff by such giant intellects as yours. You do detect an occasional kernel of sense, Edwards?"

Steve, miserably pretending a huge interest in the cover of his book, forebore to reply.

"You don't?" Mr. Simkins seemed both pained and surprised. "But I assure you they are there, Edwards, few in number perchance, but really to be found. Perhaps—hm—perhaps it would be a pleasant, at all events a profitable, occupation for you to make an earnest search for them. If you will see me after class, Edwards, I shall esteem it a pleasure to indicate a few pages of chaff for you to winnow. Thank you. Pray be seated."

That was why Steve was in anything but an enviable frame of mind that Friday evening. Mr. Simkins had pointed out exactly four pages of chaff for his winnowing, and the winnowing was to be done with pen and ink and the "occasional golden kernels" indicated by Steve on the margin of his paper. Steve was angry and depressed.

"What's the use of trying to get along with him?" he demanded of Tom. "He has it in for me, and even if I had every lesson down pat he'd be after me all the time just the same. If it wasn't for—for the team I'd quit right now."

"Don't be a chump," replied Tom good-naturedly. "You know yourself, Steve, you haven't been studying lately."

"Well, where's a fellow to get time to study?" asked Steve. "Look at what I have to do this evening!"

"You won't do it if you don't sit down and get started," said his chum soothingly. "You tackle the other stuff and then I'll help you with that Latin. I guess we can get through it together."

"It'll take me an hour to do those six pages," grumbled Steve. "I wish Simkins would choke!"

Steve got by on Saturday, with difficulty, but had a hard time of it when the instructor requested him to give his reasons for selecting certain passages of the immortal Cicero as being worthy of especial commendation. The rest of the class found it very amusing, but Steve failed to discern any humour in the proceedings. Fortunately, Mr. Simkins was merciful and Steve's martyrdom was of short duration. After that, for a few days at least, Steve's Latin was much better, if not the best.

The game with Cherry Valley deserves only passing mention. Viewed beforehand as a severe test of the Brimfield team's defence, the contest proved a walkover for the Maroon-and-Grey, the final score standing 27 to 6. Cherry Valley was weak in all departments of the game, and her single score, a touchdown made in the fourth period, was hammered out when all but two of the Brimfield players were first and second substitutes. Of Brimfield's tallies two were due to the skill of Hatherton Williams, who twice placed the pigskin over the bar for field-goals, once from the twenty-five yards and once from near the forty. The Brimfield backs showed up better than at any time in the season, and Norton and Kendall gained almost at will. There was still much to criticise and Mr. Robey was far from satisfied with the work of the eleven as a whole, but the school in general was vastly pleased. Coming a week after that disappointing 0 to 0 game with the military academy, the Cherry Hill game was decidedly encouraging.

So far Erie Sawyer had treated both Steve and Tom with silent contempt whenever he encountered them, although his scowls told them that they were by no means forgiven. Naturally, since Eric was on the 'varsity and the two chums on the second, they saw each other practically every afternoon on the field or in the gymnasium. But it wasn't difficult to avoid a real meeting where so many others were about. Roy Draper pretended to think that Eric was only biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to murder the two in cold blood, and delighted to draw gruesome pictures of the ultimate fate of his friends.