The Coach

Blenheim closed his eyes and his lips moved as if in prayer.

Bob Wyczk looked at him anxiously. Suddenly the old coach opened his eyes and said mildly:

"I'm afraid not, Edgar. That might be interpreted as a gift—after the fact, legally speaking. You know we don't do that kind of thing at Greeley . This is no football factory."

The student flushed and exclaimed, "Sorry, sir!" He turned and ran into the door, spilling his books. The coach reached down and helped him pick them up.

"Here you are, Edgar," he said. "Good luck to you. Now study hard and try not to miss any of your fraternity meetings."

"Thank you, sir," said the boy, backing out of the door.

Coach Blenheim closed the door, turned back to his visitor. "That," he said, matter of factly, "was my first-string quarterback."

Bob Wyczk stared at him. "Can a player do that?" he said incredulously. "Can a player just walk in and quit like that?"

"What's to stop him?" said Blenheim. "I've got no hold on him. He gets no favors from me. His old man pays his tuition and gives him an allowance." He walked to his desk and sat down.

Bob Wyczk followed him. "Is that the way it works, sir?"