DIES FOOTBALL TEACH REAL NERVE?
"Get in there, Ripley! Don't be afraid.

It's only a leather dummy.

It can't hurt you! Now, tackle the dummy around the hips---_hoist_!" A laugh went up among the crowd as Fred, crouching low, head down, sailed in at that tackling dummy.
Young Ripley's face was red, but he took the coach's stern tone in good part, for the young man was determined to make good on the eleven this year.
"Now, Prescott! Show us that you can beat your last performance! Imagine the dummy to be a two hundred and twenty pound center!" Dick rushed in valiantly, catching the dummy just right.
"Let go!" called the coach, laughingly.

"It isn't a sack of gold!" Another laugh went up.

This was one of the semi-public afternoons, when any known well-wisher of Gridley was allowed on the athletic field to watch the squad at work.
For half an hour the young men had been working hard, mostly at the swinging dummy, for Coach Morton wanted much improvement yet in tackling.
"Now," continued the coach, in a voice that didn't sound very loud, yet which had the quality of carrying to every part of the big field, "it'll be just as well if you fellows don't get the idea that only swinging leather dummies are to be tackled.