get up with a clear head and know almost instantly what the next play ought to be!"
"He surely can't," agreed Clif. "I think you're dead right, Loring."
"Heck, might as well let the quarter sit on the bench alongside the coach, then," grumbled Tom. "Nothing to do but call his signals!"
"Why not do away with the quarter entirely?" asked Loring, laughing. "Let the coach run the team from the side-line by radio!"
"Fine," applauded Clif. "Then, if he lost his game, he could blame it on static!"
"Well, we've got a quarter who knows both branches of his trade pretty well," said Clif. "Sim's a mighty fine player, I think."
"That's Jackson?" asked Loring. "He's the dark-haired chap, isn't he? Well, have you ever noticed how seldom he takes the ball himself?"
Tom blinked. "I guess we haven't got many plays for quarterback," he answered. Then he caught an amused twinkle in Loring's eyes. "Oh, come on and let's play," he laughed.
