“Not to-day, Tad.” The football captain was a tall well built boy of eighteen with coppery-red hair, gray eyes and a pleasant and unmistakably Irish countenance. “Introduce your friend, Tad,” he added, with a glance at Rodney.
“This is Merrill, First Form. Rod, shake hands with Captain Doyle.”
“Glad to know you,” said the captain. Then, turning to Coach Cotting, who had joined them, “It’s Merrill, all right, Coach.”
Cotting smiled. “Thought I wasn’t mistaken,” he said, studying Rodney with frank interest. “Shake hands, boy. Your brother and I were pretty good friends.”
Rodney flushed. “Yes, sir. I――I’ve heard him speak of you.”
Rodney felt rather than saw the look of hurt surprise and disgust on Tad’s face, but the incredulous astonishment that sprang into Watson’s countenance he viewed with secret satisfaction. Doyle’s surprise was less but his interest greater, while the coach showed only pleasure in the meeting. Mr. Cotting looked about thirty and was small and wiry, with keen gray eyes in a thin and deeply tanned face. He had a pleasant smile and a pleasant voice and spoke quickly and incisively.
“And how is that brother of yours, Merrill? Doing well, I hope.”
“Yes, sir, Stanley’s getting on finely. He’s in Omaha, in the railroad office. He’s assistant to the Traffic Manager.”
“I’d like to see him again. He’s never been back but once since he left us. Then he came up one fall and helped with the coaching for three or four days. You look like him in the face, but you’re built lighter.”
“Look here,” interrupted Watson, “do you mean that this kid is Ginger Merrill’s own brother?”
“Certainly,” replied Mr. Cotting. “I knew it the moment I set eyes on him. Why didn’t Ginger let us know you were coming, Merrill?”
“He――he wanted to, sir, but――I asked him not to.”
“I see.” The coach smiled. “Wanted to avoid publicity, eh? But how is it you’re not out to-day? You play, of course.”
“Fifteen, sir. I’ll be sixteen next January.”
“You’ve got lots of time then. You’d better come out to-morrow and let me see how bad you are.” He smiled encouragingly.
“I’m pretty bad,” answered Rodney. “And I don’t care much for football,” he added apologetically.
“Nonsense!” This was Captain Doyle, and he spoke impatiently. “You don’t expect us to believe that Ginger Merrill’s brother isn’t a born football player. Where have you played?”