Nevertheless, he had no objection to the athletes playing quiet games of an evening, provided they were well up in their studies, and sometimes even contributed to the general enjoyment by spinning some yarn culled from his own vast store of "past performances."

Whenever the members of the squad found him in a reminiscent mood, all other amusements were suspended, and they would listen attentively to the little trainer's reminiscences of victories won on field and track.

In his day Reddy had taken part in almost every branch of sport, and could tell stories about them all. For some time this particular evening he had not uttered a word, however, and had sat listening to the conversation of his charges with a faraway look in his twinkling blue eyes. The boys had been talking of motorcycling, and had been discussing Bert's record-breaking run across the continent.

In a lull of the conversation he spoke up.

"Motorcycle racing is all right in its way," he said, "but for real sport on two wheels give me the old bicycling days. Why, we had more fun then at one meet than you guys have now in a whole season. I call to mind one time——"

Reddy stopped to light the pipe that he had been carefully packing with rather rank tobacco, and there was a general movement toward him while he was taking the first few puffs. Feet and chairs scraped, and by the time he had his pipe pulling satisfactorily there was a ring of interested faces gathered about him.

"I suppose you think I'm going to spin ye a yarn now, ye good-for-naughts, don't ye?" he inquired, with a ferocious glance around the circle.

"If you back out now, Reddy," laughed Bert, "after getting us worked up this way, we'll all swear to throw the next game we play, just to get even with you."

"Well, I suppose I'll have to satisfy you, that bein' the case," said Reddy, his assumed ferocity of demeanor melting down into a broad grin, "although 'tis not much of a tale at that."

"'Twas in the palmy days of the bike, when everybody that could possibly scrape the price together owned one. A bicycle race in them days meant somethin', let me tell you, and people for fifty miles around would organize parties to go see it.

"Well, I had the fever just like everybody else, and after a while, when I'd saved up enough, me and a friend bought a tandem machine. It cost a pretty penny all right, but it was a well-built machine, and had better stuff in it than most bikes you see nowadays.

"My partner, whose name was Barney Keogh, and myself took many a long spin on it, and many a time had sprints with other 'speed boys' out on the road. We got so we could hit it up at a pretty hot clip, but neither of us ever thought of going into the racing game.

"But one fine Sunday there was a big meet to be held at the old Newark track, in New Jersey, and we made up our minds to go see it. We started out bright an' early and took it easy along the road enjoyin' the scenery and the fresh, mornin' air. 'Twas in the early spring, I remember, and we both felt like two colts that had just been turned loose in a big pasture.

"We just took it easy though, for we had quite a long pull ahead of us, and we was enjoyin' ourselves too much to want to hurry anyway. We got to the track a good hour before the first race was slated to start, and after puttin' our bike in a safe place we meandered around, seein' if we could locate anybody we knew. We hadn't gone far when I heard someone callin' my name, and when I turned I saw a feller named Robertson, a man I'd worked for once. I introduced Barney, and we hadn't talked very long before Robertson informed me that he was one of the committee in charge of affairs. 'Come on around with me to the judges box,' he invited, 'an I'll get you a couple of good seats.'

"O' course that was pretty soft for us, so we trailed along with him and he located us in fine seats not far from the judges box. Of course we thanked him and then he shook hands and hurried off.

"Well, the first events passed off all right, although they were rather tame, and then came the big race, which for that day happened to be a tandem race. There was a big purse offered for the winner, and there were several entrants. But for some reason there was a long wait, and first thing we knew there was Robertson coming toward us, his face red and perspirin' and his collar wilted.

"He rushes up to us, and leans over and whispers:

"'Say, Reddy,' he says, 'you can help us out if you want to. We're shy an entrant. One of the teams hasn't shown up, and according to the conditions of the race no less than six entrants can start. We've only got five, and if the race isn't ridden the crowd will go wild. Here's a chance for you and your friend to help us out of a bad fix and at the same time maybe win a nice piece of money for yourselves.'

"Well, at first Barney and me was knocked flat, an' then we turned down the proposition cold. But Robertson wouldn't take no for an answer.

"'It can't hurt you any, can it?' he said. 'An' if you should win, think of the coin you'd pull down. Why, you've got everything to win and nothing to lose.'

"Well, to make a long story short, he finally talked us into it, and we beat it around and got our machine. By the time we got on the track the crowd was getting pretty impatient, and Robertson hustled us around to the starting line.

"'Do your best, boys,' he says, 'it's a ten mile race, so don't put all your steam into it at once. Let one of the others set the pace and then you come up at the end.'

"It sounded easy all right, but I guess both Barney and I were more than a little doubtful about that 'coming up at the end' business. But it was too late to back out then, so we lined up in front of the starter's stand, and when the pistol cracked made a pretty fast getaway.

"We weren't in it with some of those professionals though, and before we'd hit our speed at all they had several yards lead over us. But we were feeling pretty strong at that. I was steering the bike, and I could feel Barney pushing along like a steam engine. But at first it was all we could do to hold our own, no matter how hard we pedaled. Pretty soon I began to feel mighty tired I can tell you, and I guess Barney must have, too, because we began dropping behind. But we kept on pushing like mad, and pretty soon we began to get our second wind. And then we certainly made that old tandem hum! We burned up that track for fair, and before very long were on equal terms with the last team. We crept steadily past them, and before the end of the sixth mile our front wheel was even with the back wheel of the leaders.

"Well, by that time the crowd had begun to sit up and take notice, and before we had covered another mile everybody was on their feet, cheering like mad and waving flags. But no matter how hard we tried, we couldn't seem to draw up even with the leading machine. By that time the blood was beating through my head fit to burst it, and I suppose Barney must have felt the same way. But neither of us was exactly what you might call a quitter, so we kept on. And by the end of the ninth mile they hadn't more than the length of one wheel's lead over us! As we started the last lap I could feel the old bike shove forward, and I knew that Barney had some reserve strength left. That kind o' put heart into me, too, and I put everything I had into that last mile, believe me. Between us we pretty nearly lifted that tandem off the ground at every stroke, I guess. Anyway, we crawled up on the leaders inch by inch, and managed to cross the finishing line a scant foot ahead of them.

"Well, I don't think I ever saw a much more excited crowd than that one. They swarmed down onto the track, and it was only by makin' a mighty quick sneak that we managed to get away from them. We weren't feeling like being made heroes of just then, let me tell you. We were just about all in."

"Believe me, I'd like to have been there," exclaimed Bert, as Reddy finished; "it must have been a real race for fair. I should think that after that you and your friend would have gone into professional bicycle racing."

"We did try to," confessed the trainer with a grin, "but we could never seem to do as well again, and after a few attempts we gave it up in disgust. But we found the prize money very welcome, for we were both hard up at the time.

"But now," he continued, "I've kept you up too late as it is, so off with you. Vamoose!"



CHAPTER VII

THE LION'S ESCAPE

"FELLOWS, I've got an inspiration," said Dick one evening when several of his companions, including Tom and Bert, had gathered in the latter's room.

"Well, well," said Bert, "old Dick's got an inspiration, boys. I wonder what it is? The last time Dick had an inspiration, that one about taking a cow up onto the roof of the recitation hall, we all pretty nearly got into trouble, including the cow. I think any other inspiration from the same source will have to come with first-class references and a letter of introduction. Otherwise I, for one, refuse to recognize it at all."

"If you're quite through," said Dick, with elaborate politeness, "perhaps you'd be so kind as to let me get in a word edgewise, and enlighten an expectant world regarding this inspiration. Just because the cow fell down a flight of steps that time and made everybody think there was an earthquake in progress doesn't prove that it wasn't a good idea. Accidents will often spoil the best laid plans."

"I notice something almost always does happen to plans of that kind," laughed Bert. "But go ahead and tell us your scheme. What is it? Kidnapping the dean, or just burning down one or two of the buildings."

"Well, that wasn't what was in my mind," confessed Dick. "But now that you speak of it, either one might be worth trying. But the particular idea simmering in my massive intellect at the time I was so rudely interrupted by a certain low character, was this: There's going to be a circus in town to-morrow, and I for one feel a whole lot like going to see it. I haven't been to a circus for the last five years and I'm just honing to see this one."

"That's an inspiration as how is an inspiration," said Tom; "it's funny how really first-class ideas originate in unbalanced minds at times. Dick comes out real strong once in a while."

"Thanks for your valued approval," said Dick sarcastically; "how do the rest of you fellows feel about it? Want to go?"

There was a general chorus of assent, and Dick gravely declared the proposition carried by a unanimous vote. "I think it starts around half past two," he said, "and I guess we can all be there by that time, can't we?"

It appeared that everybody could, and after discussing incidents of circuses they had seen in the past the group dispersed to their respective rooms.

The next day was clear and bright, and at the appointed time the merry group met on the campus and took their way in high spirits toward the center of the town, where the circus had pitched its tents. Many others were going the same way, and numerous were the jokes and furious the repartee exchanged between the different groups. In a short time they reached the "big top," and after inspecting the grounds and gazing in mock wonder at the portraits of bearded ladies and wondrously thin "living skeletons," made for the gorgeously decorated ticket wagons and secured their tickets.

"It's more fun, of course," said Tom, "to crawl in under the canvas, but I'm afraid that wouldn't be quite dignified enough for me. The rest of you can go in that way if you like, however. Don't let me interfere with your pleasure."

"If you get off much more of that stuff we'll show the crowd a 'Christian martyr' stunt by feeding you to the lions," threatened Bert. "Maybe the animals could appreciate you better than we can."

"Yes, I've heard that in many respects animals are wiser than men," retorted Tom, "and I wouldn't be surprised at that. I don't see how they could have much less sense than some people I know."

"I wonder if he means us?" inquired Bert seriously. "It hardly seems possible, does it?"

"Oh, no, I wasn't thinking of you at all," said Tom. "I was thinking of the faculty when I said that."

"Well," said Bert amid a general laugh, "in that case we'll forgive all your past offenses and start you off with a clean slate. Your sentiments regarding the faculty do you credit."

By this time the group found themselves opposite the beginning of the row of cages containing the menagerie, and started out on a tour of inspection. There was a big crowd and progress could only be made at a snail's pace. By the time they had reached the elephants it was close on to the time set for the show to begin, and after feeding the big brutes a few peanuts they hurried into the main tent. They secured seats near the top of the high tier of loose planks placed on trestles, and settled themselves to enjoy the performance. Before ascending to their places they had amply provided themselves with popcorn and peanuts, without which, as one of the fellows remarked, a "circus wasn't a circus."

The circus was one of the smaller variety, but had a reputation of giving a first-class exhibition, and in the opinion of some of the spectators was more satisfactory to watch than one of the big shows, where the very multiplicity of attractions made it difficult for the spectator to really enjoy anything. The onlooker's attention is drawn by a burst of applause in some distant line of seats, and while he is trying to make out what is going on there he misses, most likely, the act that is being performed near him.

This circus had only two rings, but the acts presented were of a high character and our friends enjoyed everything from the opening parade to the final act, in which a man "looped the loop" on a bicycle. At the conclusion of this feat, Dick leaned over toward Bert. "Why don't you try that stunt on a bicycle some time, Bert?" he inquired, "it ought to be a cinch for you."

"Too easy, too easy," laughed Bert, "give me something hard while you're about it. Just the same," he added more seriously, "it is a mighty hard stunt, and requires nerve and skill of the highest sort. Personally, I'd rather make a living some other way."

By this time they were able to make their way through the throng to the main entrance, and were just passing through into the outer tent when they were startled by hearing shouts and screams from the direction of the animal cages. There was a wild flurry and commotion in the crowd in front of them, and suddenly they saw a great tawny form flying through the air. The people in the path of the beast scattered wildly to left and right, and the brute landed on the sawdust floor without doing any damage. He stood there a moment glaring about him, swishing his tail angrily back and forth. Meanwhile there was a mad scramble for the exits, and many persons were thrown down and trampled in the crush.

The group of collegians had stood stupefied for a few minutes watching the escaped lion, for such the animal proved to be. The big brute seemed bewildered by the crowds and the shouting, and knew not what use to make of his new-found freedom. But suddenly he emitted a deep roar, and bounded toward the main exit, in which a struggling, shouting crowd was now solidly packed. Suddenly Bert sprang into action. "Head him off! head him off!" he shouted and, suiting the action to the word, started diagonally toward the entrance. Tom and Dick were close after him, followed by the more courageous of their companions. By this time several of the animal keepers and trainers had also struggled through the press, and were hot in pursuit of the fleeing lion. But they were too far behind to be of any good, and the lion would surely have dashed headlong into the packed mass of humanity had not Bert and the others with him intervened. They waved their hats and shouted, and the lion, somewhat taken aback, halted for a second. Then he gathered himself together and, with a mighty bound, leaped clear over their heads. With another spring he cleared the crowd at the entrance, and was free. He hesitated a moment, looking this way and that, and then, just as one of the keepers, a rifle in his hand, reached the tent entrance, bounded swiftly forward and disappeared around a corner.

The trainers started out in hot pursuit, accompanied by Bert and his friends. "I don't want to shoot him," panted the man with the rifle as he ran, "he's worth five thousand dollars. He's one of the finest lions in captivity, and his loss would mean a bad blow to the outfit. But if I get a crack at him I'll shoot, just the same. We can't run the risk of trying to capture him alive."

It was not difficult to trace the lion's path, although not once did they actually catch sight of him. Distant shouts and cries told of the beast's progress, and their path was lined by closely shut doors and pale faces peering from upper windows. Soon they reached the outskirts of the town and then, in the more open country, were able to catch a glimpse of their quarry. He was about half a mile distant, and evidently making directly for a dense piece of woodland just ahead of him. Soon he disappeared among the trees, and the man carrying the rifle, who was evidently the head trainer, called a halt.

"How far do those woods extend?" he asked Bert.

"Not very far," replied Bert. "I should say there's not more than a square mile of woodland, at most."

"Well, then," said the other, "the chances are ten to one that Leo will stick to the trees, and not come out unless he has to. In that case, all we have to do is surround the place to see that he doesn't get away. Then I don't think we'll have much trouble recapturing him."

As this seemed to be the opinion of his assistants, too, their leader sent one of them back to the circus to make a report and bring out reinforcements, and then made plans to surround the strip of woods. By this time quite a crowd had collected, and the animal trainer selected volunteers to set up a guard about the trees and give warning if the lion attempted to break cover.

"All you have to do," he explained, "is to climb a tree near where I post you, and if you see anything of the lion, sing out. He can't climb a tree, of course, so you'll be perfectly safe."

There was no lack of volunteers, and our three comrades were among the first to proffer their services. "This is a little more than we had counted on," laughed Tom; "we expected some excitement for our money, of course, but nothing like this."

"Well, we won't kick now that it is handed to us," remarked Bert; "it begins to seem like old times again. Only that time we were up against a tiger instead of a lion."

"Yes, that's so," agreed Dick, "but I hope we don't have as close a shave this time as we had then. That was getting a little too close to the undertaker to suit me."

"No, we won't go looking for trouble the way we did that time," said Bert. "If that lion wants us, he'll have to climb a tree to get us. I'm not anxious for a fracas with a big healthy lion. I'll leave that pleasure to some one else."

By this time twilight had begun to set in, and it was with the greatest caution that the volunteers and circus men began to skirt the edge of the patch of trees. The head trainer went with them, and at intervals stationed one of the band in a convenient tree. "Just keep your eyes peeled until it's too dark to see," he instructed them, "and by that time we'll have torches from the circus. Then we'll form a ring of fire around the woods, and keep the brute inside it until daybreak. Then we'll get him, dead or alive."

In this way he made the circuit of the woods, until his last helper had been stationed to his satisfaction. Tom, Bert and Dick were stationed in succession at a distance from each other of two or three hundred yards, and accommodated themselves as best they could among the branches. They kept a sharp lookout below them, but all remained quiet and undisturbed, and it seemed hard to believe that there was lurking death in the midst of the quiet woodland. No sound reached their ears save an occasional distant shout, probably of command or direction from the head trainer.

Time wore on slowly, after the first excitement had passed, and the watchers began to get thoroughly chilled in the crisp autumn air before they saw a host of twinkling lights approaching from the direction of the town. The lights grew rapidly nearer, and the watchers knew that this was the squad of men of which the trainer had spoken. Soon they reached the fire where the head trainer had made his headquarters, and after a brief halt started to surround the woods. Each man of the party held a flaring, smoking gasoline torch, and their combined strength gave a brilliant illumination. In their progress they stopped at the trees where the watchers were stationed, and one after the other relieved them. Bert, Dick and Tom were soon on the ground once more, and were glad to get an opportunity to stretch their cramped muscles.

"Well, what's the plan now?" Bert asked one of the men.

"Oh, there's nothing we can do till daylight," he answered, "we'll just hang around and make sure that the lion doesn't get out of these woods. Then we'll capture him some way, and hustle to catch up with the rest of the outfit."

"Why, have they gone on without you fellows?" asked Tom in surprise.

"Sure," replied the other; "we're due in the next town to-morrow, and a little thing like a lion getting away can't stop us. Nothing much less than an earthquake could, anyway."

And indeed, it was very much as the fellow said. A circus simply must meet its engagements on time, or else go out of business. Its agents go on days in advance of it, advertising and pasting bill posters over the surrounding landscape, and if the show isn't on time all the cost of this is wasted, besides the loss of prestige to the circus, not to say anything of the loss of the day's gate receipts.

Therefore, the circus from which the lion had escaped struck its tents and traveled on exactly as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. To be sure, it was hindered by the fact that so many of its men had to be assigned to capturing the lion, but in spite of this it was hardly an hour late in starting.

After the volunteer watchers had been relieved, Burton, the trainer in charge of the proceedings, thanked them for their services, but told them that there was nothing more they could do, so that they could feel at liberty to go home if they were so inclined. A few did, but the majority elected to stay and "see the show through," as Tom expressed it. "It isn't often you get a chance to see a lion hunt in a quiet college town," he said, "and I, for one, am not going to miss it merely to get a little sleep. I can sleep 'most any old time."

"Yes, but there probably won't be anything doing until morning, anyway," said Burton with a smile; "you could get your sleep, and come back again."

But the three comrades were of one mind, and resolved to spend the night around the camp fire, so as to miss nothing of the novel experience. Fortunately, the next day was Saturday, and, as it happened, none of them had any recitations on for that day. This left them free to do about as they liked, and it did not take them long to make up their minds.

They settled themselves around the fire, and soon had good reason to feel glad that they had decided to stay. The last arrivals had brought food and coffee in plenty, and this was soon passed around, everybody making a hearty meal. Then pipes were lit, and those of the circus men who were not on duty began swapping tales of adventures and experiences while following the "game," that were teeming with interest to the boys. Many of the men were fairly well educated, and told what they had to tell in a very interesting way. Every once in a while those about the fire would leave to replace some of their companions who had been watching some time, and the men thus relieved would have a new batch of stories to relate. Around the crackling, roaring fire it was very warm and comfortable, and time flew by faster than the boys realized. They had never felt more wide awake in their lives, and they were much surprised when the first faint streaks of dawn in the eastern sky told of approaching day.

As soon as it became light enough to see, two carpenters started constructing a wooden cage out of lumber they had brought with them, and had soon built a cage large enough and strong enough, it seemed to the boys, to hold an elephant. When the work was completed, several men lifted the cage and carried it to the very edge of the woods. Then, having located the place where the lion had entered, they placed the cage directly across the trail. It had been provided with a door that slid up and down, and this was fastened open with a stout cord.

By the time these preparations were finished Mr. Burton hurried up, and carefully inspected the work. He had just returned from a trip around the trees, and reported everything quiet so far. "Now, boys," he said, "get a move on, and we'll carry this trap a little farther in. Old Leo might not want to come out this far for his breakfast, even though he's probably pretty hungry by this time. Lively's the word, now!"

The cage was lifted by willing arms, and carried well into the shadow of the trees. "All right, here's the place," said Mr. Burton, when he judged they had penetrated far enough, "set it down here. Have you got the meat with you, Bill?" The man addressed produced a large bundle, which on being unwrapped proved to be a large piece of juicy raw meat.

"That will do fine," said Burton, approvingly and, taking the meat from the other, placed it well inside the cage. "All right," he said, when everything was arranged to his entire satisfaction. "All hands get into the trees now, and we'll wait for Leo to come for his breakfast. I'll take the rope into my tree, and spring the trap. Hustle. The brute's apt to come around most any time now."

Even as he spoke a loud roar echoed through the woods, so close at hand that for a moment every heart stood still. Then there was a wild dash for the nearest trees. Dick and Bert and Tom made for a large oak near at hand, and went up it faster than they would have imagined possible. They had barely reached a place of safety in the lower branches, than with another roar the lion leaped into the clearing. For a few minutes he stood motionless, with the exception of his tail, which swished angrily back and forth. Soon he located the boys in their tree, and made an angry dash toward it. By this time, however, they were high up in the branches, and the lion seemed to realize that they were beyond his reach, and after giving vent to another roar, walked away. Then he saw others in the surrounding trees, and made a circuit of inspection, gazing eagerly upward at the tempting human beings so close to him and yet hopelessly beyond his reach. Finally, he seemed to dismiss them from his mind and, going over to the cage, sniffed eagerly at the meat inside it. He had had nothing to eat since the preceding noonday, and was ravenously hungry. But he seemed to suspect some trap to curtail his new-found liberty and, hungry as he was, for more than half an hour he refused to enter the cage. He made numerous attempts to hook the meat with his claws, but found it always a little beyond his reach. At last, with an angry growl, he made up his mind and stepped inside the cage.

He had hardly commenced to gnaw the meat, however, when Burton released the cord that held the sliding door open. With a crash it slid closed, and the great beast was a prisoner once more!

The lion whirled like lightning and dashed himself madly against the restraining bars, but the cage had been built with an eye to emergencies, and stood the strain without any sign of weakening. Finally the lion's ragings subsided, and the head trainer concluded it was safe to descend and complete the work. He expressed himself accordingly, and everybody swarmed down to the ground, and surrounded the cage, taking care, however, to keep at a respectful distance.

"All right, boys, get busy," sang out Mr. Burton. "Let's get this cage up against the wagon as soon as we can. We're behind our schedule as it is."

Long poles were thrust under the cage, and with a good deal of heaving and tugging the lion was lifted through the air and his temporary cage placed alongside the animal wagon. When it had been securely fastened, the door was opened, and Leo was at liberty to enter his old abode. At first he seemed disinclined to do so, but after much coaxing and prodding he was persuaded. The door of his old cage was slammed shut, and the capture had been effected.

"Well!" exclaimed the trainer, drawing a long sigh of relief, "that's a good job well done. And I want to thank you lads," he continued, turning to where our three friends were standing; "the circus owes you a big debt of gratitude, and that's a fact. If ever any of you should be out of a job, there'll always be one waiting for you with our outfit."

"Thanks," smiled Bert, speaking for his comrades and himself, "if we ever do, we'll let you know. We've had quite an adventure out of this, anyway."

"I should say you had!" said Mr. Burton; "the chances are you'll never be in another lion hunt as long as you live."

After a few more words the trainer turned away, and the party proceeded in the direction of the town. At its outskirts our three comrades said farewell and made off toward college.

On the way they discussed the exciting happenings of the previous day and night, but as they reached the campus Bert said: "Well, fellows, I hadn't noticed it much before, but now I come to think of it, I'm mighty tired. I think I'll turn in and sleep until about supper time."

The others also expressed themselves as "all in," and sought their beds, where slumber was not long in coming.



CHAPTER VIII

ON THE TOBOGGAN

"MISFORTUNES never come singly," groaned Tom.

"It never rains but it pours," added Dick gloomily.

"O, cut out the croaking, you fellows," admonished Bert. "Or, if you're dead set on proverbs, remember that 'it's no use crying over spilt milk.' We're up against it good and plenty, but that's all the more reason to get together and try to kill the 'jinx.'"

There certainly was room for disquietude, if not despair, in the present condition of the football team. The "Blues" were in the throes of a "slump." And that misfortune, dreaded like the plague by all coaches and trainers, had come on them suddenly, like "a bolt from the blue." From the heights of confidence they had fallen to the depths of hopelessness. The superb machine, evolved and developed with infinite pains, now seemed headed straight for the scrap-heap.

Only the Saturday preceding they had been lined up against Dartmouth—always a fierce proposition—and to the delight of Hendricks had "run rings around them." They had played with a dash and fire that made them seem simply unbeatable. The ball had been in the enemy's territory three-fourths of the time and, after the first quarter, it was simply a question as to the size of the score. When at last the game was over, they had run up thirty-two points, and the ball had never once been within twenty yards of their own goal. The criticisms on the game in the Sunday papers had dwelt upon the impregnable defense and slashing attack of the "Blues." On the same Saturday the "Greys" and "Maroons" had also met redoubtable antagonists, and although they won, the scores were small and the playing by no means impressive. The general consensus was that on the form already shown, the "dope" favored the Blues in the great games yet to come. While admitting the wonderful work of some of the men who had starred in their positions, special stress was laid upon the smoothness and accuracy of the team work as a whole.

This of course was balm to the coach, all whose efforts had been directed toward making individual work subordinate to the development of a coherent system of team play, and he began to see the reward of the untiring labors that he had given without stint for the six weeks preceding. Reddy went about his work with a complacent smile, and the boys themselves were jubilant at the way they were rounding into form.

Then suddenly the blow fell, to be succeeded by others no less paralyzing.

"Have you heard the news?" exclaimed Drake, as he burst in upon Bert and Dick on Monday evening, as they were preparing their lessons for the following day.

"What is it?" they cried in chorus.

"Axtell and Hodge have been conditioned and forbidden to play until they get up with the rest of the class," was the answer.

"No," said Bert incredulously.

"Sure thing," affirmed Drake. "I had it straight from the boys themselves not five minutes ago. They sure are in the doleful dumps."

The three friends looked at each other in a perplexity and anxiety that they made no effort to conceal.

"But it will break up the team," cried Dick. "They're two of our very best men."

"You're right there," gloomed Drake. "There isn't a fiercer tackler than Axtell on the eleven, and Hodge is the heaviest man in the line. We haven't any too much beef at best, and man for man, the 'Greys' average five pounds heavier."

"Just when we were getting into such dandy shape, too," groaned Dick.

"Why in thunder didn't they keep up in their work," demanded Drake fiercely. "They must have known they were falling behind, and there's too much at stake for them to take any risk."

"There, there," soothed Bert. "Don't you suppose they're feeling worse about it than any one else?"

Just then there was a knock at the door and Axtell and Hodge themselves stalked in.

"I see you've heard about it," said Hodge, falling heavily into a chair. "I wish you fellows would take me out and kick me around the campus."

"Same here," echoed Axtell despondently. "I'll pay for all the shoe leather you wear out doing it."

"O, brace up, fellows," said Bert cheerily. "Things will come out all right yet. How bad is it anyway?"

"It isn't so bad with Axtell," replied Hodge. "He's only got a condition in Latin, and he can probably work that off in a week. But I'm stuck on mathematics and Greek both, and I've got about as much chance as a snowfall in June of making them up before the big games."

"I wonder if there's no chance of getting the faculty to let you put off making them up until after the games," pondered Bert thoughtfully.

"Such a chance," said Drake sardonically. "That stony-hearted crew hasn't any sporting blood. They'll insist that every t must be crossed and every i dotted before they'll take off the conditions."

"I'm not so sure of that," replied Bert. "There's Benton. He used to be a star at left end, and I don't think he's forgotten how he used to feel about such things. I can't any more than fail anyway, and I'm going to take a hack at it. You fellows stay right here and I'll run over and see him."

He found the professor at home, and received a cordial greeting.

"I see you boys trounced Dartmouth last week," he said genially. "I've seldom seen a better game."

This gave Bert his opening.

"We hope that isn't a circumstance to what we'll do to the 'Greys' and 'Maroons,'" he replied. "That is, we did hope so up to this afternoon."

The professor looked at him sharply.

"Why not now?" he asked.

And then Bert told him of the conditions of Hodge and Axtell, and the hope he entertained that some way might be found to make them up after the big games instead of before. He spoke with all the earnestness he felt, and the professor listened sympathetically.

"It's too bad," he assented. "I'm afraid, though, there's no remedy. The rules of the college are like those of the Medes and Persians, not to be broken, even"—and his eyes twinkled—"for so important a thing as a football game. Those matters anyway are in the province of the Dean. You might see him if you like, but I fear that it is a forlorn hope."

And so it proved. The Dean had a warm corner in his heart for Bert, but in this matter was not to be shaken. The college, he reminded his caller, was primarily an institution of learning and not a gymnasium. The conditions would have to be made up before the men could play, although he hinted slyly that the examinations would not be over severe.

And with this one crumb of comfort, Bert was forced to be content. He bowed himself out and returned to report the non-success of his mission.

"What did I tell you?" said Drake.

"You're a brick anyway, Bert, for trying," acknowledged Axtell, "and perhaps it will make them go a little easier with us when we try again to show them how little we know. And now, old man," addressing Hodge, "it's up to us to make a quick sneak and get busy with those confounded conditions. Plenty of hard work and a towel dipped in ice water round our heads, with a pot of hot coffee to keep us awake, will help make up for our lack of brains. Come along, fellow-boob," and with a grin that they tried to make cheerful, the two culprits took their departure.

The next morning the campus was buzzing with the news. It jarred the college out of the self-complacency they had begun to feel over the prospects of the team. Many were the imprecations heaped upon the heads of the hard-hearted faculty, and one of the malcontents slipped up to the cupola without detection and put the college flag at half-mast. The smile on Reddy's face was conspicuous by its absence and Hendricks chewed furiously at his cigar instead of smoking it. But when it came to the daily talk in the training quarters, he was careful not to betray any despondency. There was enough of that abroad anyway without his adding to it. Like the thoroughbred he was, he faced the situation calmly, and sought to repair the breaches made in his ranks.

"Winston will play at right guard until further notice," he announced, "and Morley will take the place of Axtell."

The two members of the scrubs thus named trotted delightedly to their places. For them it was a promotion that they hoped to make permanent. They knew they would have to fight hard to hold the positions if Hodge and Axtell came back, but they were bent on showing that they could fill their shoes.

But although they worked like Trojans, the machine that afternoon creaked badly. The new men were unfamiliar with many of the signals and made a mess of some of the plays that the old ones whom they supplanted would have carried out with ease. This, however, was to be expected, and time would go a long way toward curing the defects.

The real trouble, however, lay with the other nine. They seemed to be working as though in a nightmare. An incubus weighed them down. Their thoughts were with their absent comrades and with the altered prospects of the team. They played without snap or dash, and the coach ground his teeth as he noted the lifeless playing so strongly in contrast with that of three days earlier.

Just before the first quarter ended, Ellis, in running down under a punt, came heavily in collision with Farrar, of the scrubs, and they went to the ground together. Farrar was up in a moment, but Ellis, after one or two trials, desisted. His comrades ran to him and lifted him to his feet. But his foot gave way under him, and his lips whitened as he sought to stifle a groan.

"It's that bum ankle of mine," he said, trying to smile. "I'm afraid I've sprained it again."

They carried him into the dressing room and delivered him to Reddy. He made a careful examination and, when at last he looked up, there was a look in his eyes that betokened calamity.

"Sprained, is it," he said with a voice that he tried to render calm. "It's broken."

"What!" cried Ellis as he realized all this meant to him.

"Are you sure, Reddy?" asked Hendricks, aghast.

"I wish I wasn't," was the answer, "but I've seen too many of them not to know."

To poor Ellis the words sounded like the knell of doom. The pain was excruciating, but in the rush of sensations it seemed nothing. The real disaster lay in the fact that it put him definitely off the football team. All his work, all his sacrifice of time and ease, all his hopes of winning honor and glory under the colors of the old college had vanished utterly. Henceforth, he could be only a looker on where he had so fondly figured himself as a contender. His face was white as ashes, and the coach shrank from the look of abject misery in his eyes.

"Come now, old man, buck up," he tried to comfort him. "We'll send for the best surgeon in New York, and he'll have you on your feet again before you know it. You may make the big games yet." But in his heart he knew that it was impossible, and so did all the pale-faced crowd of players who gathered round their injured comrade and carried him with infinite care and gentleness to his rooms.

The rest of the practice was foregone that afternoon as, under the conditions, it would have been simply a farce, and the players made their way moodily off the field, chewing the bitter cud of their reflections. Sympathy with Ellis and consternation over this new blow to their prospects filled their minds to the exclusion of everything else.

Bert and Tom and Dick—the "Three Guardsmen," as they had been jokingly called, as they were always together—walked slowly toward their rooms. The jaunty swing and elastic step characteristic of them were utterly gone. Their hearts had been bound up in the hope of victory, and now that hope was rapidly receding and bade fair to vanish altogether.

Apart from the general loss to the team, each had his own particular grievance. Tom, as quarterback, saw with dismay the prospect of drilling the new men in the complicated system of signals, of which there were more than sixty, each of which had to be grasped with lightning rapidity. The slightest failure might throw the whole team in hopeless confusion. Dick was ruminating on the loss of Ellis, whose position in the line had been right at his elbow, and with whom he had learned to work with flawless precision on the defense. And Bert would miss sorely the swift and powerful cooeperation of Axtell at right half. Those two in the back field had been an army in themselves.

"The whole team is shot to pieces," groaned Tom.

"The hoodoo is certainly working overtime," muttered Dick.

"It's a raw deal for fair," acquiesced Bert, "but we're far from being dead ones yet. We haven't got a monopoly of the jinx. Don't think that the other fellows won't get theirs before the season's over. Then, too, the new men may show up better than we think. Morley's no slouch, and there may be championship timber in Winston. Besides, Axtell and Hodge may be back again in a week or two. It's simply up to every one of us to work like mad and remember that

The fellow worth while is the one who can smile When everything's going dead wrong.

"You're a heavenly optimist, all right," grumbled Tom. "You'd see a silver lining to any little old cloud. You remind me of the fellow that fell from the top of a skyscraper, shouting as he passed the second-story window: 'I'm all right, so far.' We may be 'all right so far,' but the dull thud's coming and don't you forget it."

And during the days that followed it seemed as though Tom were a truer prophet than Bert. Storm clouds hovered in the sky, and the barometer fell steadily. On Wednesday they were scheduled to play a small college—one of the "tidewater" teams that ordinarily they would have swallowed at a mouthful. No serious resistance was looked for, and it was regarded simply as a "practice" game. But the game hadn't been played five minutes before the visitors realized that something was wrong with the "big fellows," and taking heart of hope, the plucky little team put up a game that gave the Blues all they wanted to do to win. Win they did, at the very end, but by a margin that set the coach to frothing at the mouth with rage and indignation. After the game they had a dressing down that was a gem in its way, and which for lurid rhetoric and fierce denunciation left nothing to be desired.

But despite all his efforts, the lethargy persisted. It was not that the boys did not try. They had never tried harder. But a spell seemed to have fallen upon them. They were like a lion whose spine has been grazed by a hunter's bullet so that it can barely drag its deadened body along. In vain the coach fumed and stormed, and figuratively beat his breast and tore his hair. They winced under the whip, they strained in the harness, but they couldn't pull the load. And at length "Bull" Hendricks realized that what he had been dreading all season had come.

The team had "slumped."

There are over three hundred thousand words in the English language, and many of them are full of malignant meaning. Fever, pestilence, battle, blood, murder, death have an awful significance, but in the lexicon of the coach and trainer of a college team the most baleful word is "slump."

This plague had struck the Blues and struck them hard. It was a silent panic, a brooding fear, an inability of mind and muscle to work together. There was but one remedy, and "Bull" Hendricks knew it.

The next day a dozen telegrams whizzed over the wires. They went to every quarter of the continent, from Maine to Texas, from the Lakes to the Gulf. And the burden of all was the same:

"Team gone to pieces. Drop everything. Come."

If one had looked over the shoulder of the telegraph operator, he would have seen that every address was that of some man who in his time had been famous the country over for his prowess on the gridiron, and who on many a glorious field had worn the colors of the Blues.

One of them was delivered in the private office of a great business concern in Chicago. Mr. Thomas Ames, the president—better known in earlier and less dignified days as "Butch"—turned from the mass of papers on his desk and opened it. His eyes lighted up as he read it and saw the signature. Then the light faded.

"Swell chance," he muttered, "with this big deal on."

He turned reluctantly to his desk. Then he read the telegram again. Then he sighed and bit viciously at the end of his cigar.

"Nonsense," he growled. "There's no use being a fool. I simply can't, and that's all there is to it."

He crushed the telegram in his hand and threw it into the waste basket.

Ten minutes later he fished it out. He smoothed out the wrinkles and smiled as he noted the imperious form of the message. He was more accustomed to giving orders than obeying them, and the change had in it something piquant.

"Just like 'Bull,'" he grinned. "Arrogant old rascal. Doesn't even ask me. Just says 'come.'"

"Off his trolley this time though," he frowned. "Nothing doing."

The pile of letters on his desk remained unanswered. His stenographer waited silently. He waved her away, and she went out, closing the door behind her. He lay back in his chair, toying idly with the telegram.

The memory of the old days at college was strong upon him. A few minutes ago, engrossed in the details of a large and exacting business, nothing had been farther from his thoughts. Now it all came back to him with a rush, evoked by that crumpled bit of paper.

Days when the wine of life had filled his cup to the brim, when "the world lay all before him where to choose," when the blood ran riot in his veins, when all the future was full of promise and enchantment. Days when laughter lay so near his lips that the merest trifle called it forth, when fun and frolic held high carnival, when his unjaded senses tasted to the full the mere joy of living. Days, too, of earnest effort, of eager ambition, of brilliant achievement, of glowing hope, as he prepared himself to play his part in the great drama of the world's life. Glorious old days they had been, and although he had had more than his share of prosperity and success in the years since then, he knew that they were the happiest days of his life.

In his reverie his cigar had gone out, and he lighted it again mechanically.

The old place hadn't changed much, he supposed. That was one of its charms. World-weary men could go back to it and renew the dreams of their youth in the same old surroundings. A new dormitory, perhaps, added to the others, a larger building for the library, but, apart from these, substantially unchanged. The old gray towers covered with ivy, the green velvet of the campus, the long avenue of stately elms—these were the same as ever. He thought of the initials he had carved on the tree nearest the gate, and wondered if the bark had grown over them. And the old fence where the boys had gathered in the soft twilight of spring evenings and sung the songs that had been handed down through college generations. How the melody from hundreds of voices had swelled out into the night!

There was the old "owl wagon," where the fellows late at night, coming back from a lark in town, had stopped for a bite before going to bed. There never were such delicious waffles as that fellow turned out. And there was Pietro at the chestnut stand, always good natured under the teasing of the boys, and old John, the doughnut man——

O, what was the use? He must get back to those letters.

There was the "sugar eat" in the spring. That usually came in the latter part of March. The soft wind would come up out of the south, the snow would begin to vanish and the sap stir in the trees. That was the signal for the "Hike." A scouting party would be sent out to make arrangements at some sugar camp five or six miles away. Then the next morning the fellows would "cut" recitations, and the startled professors would find their rooms deserted, while the hilarious culprits were footing it out to the camp. The farmer's wife, forewarned in advance, would have the long rough tables under the trees prepared for the hungry crew. Out from her capacious ovens would come great pans of hot puffy biscuits, while from the boiling caldrons the boys drew huge cans of bubbling maple syrup. And that sugar on those biscuits! Ambrosia, nectar, food for the gods! He had dined since then in the finest restaurants in the world, and never tasted anything to be compared to it.

What mattered the sarcastic and cutting remarks of the Profs. on the following day? They had had their fling and were willing to pay the price.

He came back to reality and the telegram that he was automatically folding and unfolding.

"Team gone to pieces." He stirred uneasily.

That was certainly tough luck. It must be serious when "Bull" talked like that. It had usually been the good fortune of Blue teams to make the other fellows go "to pieces." Now it really seemed as though the good old colors were in danger of being dimmed, if not disgraced.

They hadn't been disgraced when he wore them, he remembered. How they had wound up the season in a blaze of glory the last year he had played on the team! He saw even now, the crowded stands, the riot of colors, the frenzied roars of the Blues, when he had squirmed out of the mass piled on him, and grabbing the ball, had rushed down the field for a touchdown, with the enemy thundering at his heels. He felt still the thrill of that supreme moment when the fellows had hoisted him on their shoulders and carried him in triumph off the field.

He half rose from his chair, but sank back.

"If it wasn't for that confounded deal," he groaned.

He had been so used to Blue victories that their failure for the last two years had made him "sore." In his business associations and at his club he came in contact with many graduates from different colleges. He had usually been able to "josh" them good naturedly over the way the Blues had "done them up." But lately the shoe had been on the other foot and they had delighted in getting even.

He was not too thin skinned, and took their jibes smilingly, even though the smile was a trifle forced. They were entitled to their revenge. Sometimes, however, he winced when they flicked him "on the raw." There was Evans, for instance, an old Princeton tackle. Good fellow, Evans—corking good fellow—but after the Blues lost last fall, he had gloated a little too much. He had met him on the street and clapped him hilariously on the shoulder.

"Ha, ha, Ames," he shouted, "how about it? We tied the can on the bulldog's tail, and we'll do the same next year."

That had stung. His face flushed now as he recalled it:

"We tied the can on the bulldog's tail, and we'll do the same next year."

"They will, will they?" he roared, jumping to his feet.

He pressed a button on his desk, and his confidential man came in.

"Thompson," said Ames hurriedly, "I've been called East on important business. Keep in touch with me by wire. I've just got time to catch the Twentieth Century Express."



CHAPTER IX

HAMMERED INTO SHAPE

LIKE a sheaf of arrows, the other telegrams sped over the country, and most of them went straight to the mark. A mining engineer in Montana got one, and pulled up stakes at once. A rising young lawyer in Minneapolis found it necessary to look up some data in the old college library. A guest on a houseboat down near Jacksonville made hurried excuses and came North by the first train. Others felt urgently the need of a brief vacation from their accustomed duties and acted promptly on the impulse. Not a week had elapsed before ten of the dozen were on the scene of action. Of the remaining two, one was up in the North Woods and could not be reached, and the other was on his honeymoon.

They had a royal welcome from the coach, who had not doubted for a moment that they would heed the call. He knew that the old war horses would "sniff the battle from afar" and come galloping to the fray. Now that they were there, he felt the lightening of the tremendous load of responsibility he had been carrying since the beginning of the season. These men were not theorists, but from actual experience knew every point of the game from start to finish. Now he could divide his men up into squads, each one presided over by an expert who could coach each individual player in the duties of his position, while Hendricks himself could exercise a general supervision of the whole.

"It was bully of you fellows to come," he said, as they gathered in his rooms, as full of life and ginger as so many two-year-old colts. "And, now that you are here, I'm going to give you plenty of work to do. Heaven knows there's enough to keep you busy if we're to have a ghost of a show to win this fall."

"What's the seat of the trouble?" asked Ames. "Are they shirking? Are they too light? Many accidents? Come, get it off your chest. Tell us the sad story of your life."

"It wasn't so sad until lately," grinned "Bull," "and up to a week ago I didn't feel the necessity of weeping on any one's shoulder. In fact, I was beginning to think that the team was the real goods. They walked all over the Army, and what they did to Dartmouth was a sin and a shame. Then somebody must have wished a hoodoo on us and things began to happen."

And he narrated in detail the unexpected way in which three of his best men had been whisked off the team, and the results that followed.

"The fellows simply got in the doldrums," he went on, "and, with a few exceptions, have played like a lot of schoolboys. They seem to have forgotten all that they ever knew. Now you fellows know as well as I do that when a team slumps in that fashion there's only one thing to do. We've got to have new blood, new faces, new tactics. That's the reason I sent for you fellows. The boys know you by reputation. They've heard of the big things you did when in college, they look up to you as heroes——"

"Spare our blushes!" exclaimed Hadley.

"And it will give them a new inspiration," went on the coach, not heeding the interruption. "They'll forget their troubles and play like fiends to justify your good opinion, and to show you that the honor of the old college is safe in their hands. I want you to teach them all you ever knew, and then some.

"I'm not asking you to make bricks without straw," he continued. "The stuff is there for a crackerjack team. We're a bit short on beef, and I'd like to have an average of five pounds more in the line. But I've got the finest back field in the country, bar none. Wilson at full is simply chain lightning, and the whole country will be talking of him by November. Axtell is one of the most savage tacklers I've ever seen, and if he can only get his conditions worked off soon, we won't have to worry about right half. Morley, the man I put in his place, is a dandy, but doesn't come up to Axtell. Henderson at quarter is as quick as a cat and as cunning as a fox. Trent at center and Drake at right end are as good as they make 'em. Those fellows I've named are stars. The rest are good, but I've seen as good and better on many a Blue team.

"Now that's the way I size them up, and I want you fellows to go to it. There are just about enough of us to take a man apiece. Do what you like with them. I'll stand for anything short of murder. Work them till their tongues hang out. Knock it into them if you have to use an axe. Every day counts now. Do you realize that the game with the 'Maroons' is only three weeks off? If it were to-morrow they wouldn't leave anything of us but a grease-spot. And the 'Greys' wouldn't leave even that."

"Leave it to us," answered Ames, grimly voicing the general sentiment. "We'll give 'em medicine in allopathic doses, and it will be a case of 'kill or cure.'"

And promptly the next afternoon they proceeded to make good their threat. They went at their men hammer and tongs from the start. And the boys responded at once to this drastic treatment. There was a general brace all along the line. A new factor had been injected into the situation. The listlessness of a few days back gave place to animation, and before half an hour had passed the coach was delighted at the way his plan was working.

In order that the newcomers might get a line on their style of play, the whole team was put through the fundamentals. The tackling dummy was brought out, and the players in turn launched themselves against it to the accompaniment of stimulating cries:

"Harder."

"You're too low."

"That was a love tap."

"Batter it."

"Above the knees."

"Slam the life out of it."

"Too ladylike."

"Once more."

"Murder it."

And there was no let up until the tackling was as savage as even the most exacting of the visitors demanded.

Then followed practice in falling on the ball in such a way as to shelter it with hands and knees, while avoiding having one's breath knocked out by the fall; running with it tucked under the arm so securely that no grab of the enemy can dislodge it; getting down under kicks fast enough to take advantage of any fumble by the enemy in trying for a "fair catch;" getting a quick start the moment the ball was snapped back, and a dozen other elemental features that constitute the alphabet of the game. The boys had practiced these things a hundred times before, but they can never be done too often or too well; and to-day under the new stimulus they outdid themselves. Each tried to surpass his fellows and worked as he had never worked before.

After an hour of this, they were lined up for two ten-minute sessions with the scrubs. The play was sharp and snappy and every move was followed by keen and critical eyes that nothing, however trivial, escaped. By the time the team had rolled up twenty points and held their opponents scoreless, the volunteer coaches knew pretty well the defects that would have to be corrected, and just what work was cut out for them.

The coach was immensely pleased. Once more he saw daylight ahead.

"What do you think of them, Butch, now that you've clapped your eyes on them?" he asked, as they strolled off the field.

"All to the good," said Ames, sententiously. "Of course it's far from being a finished team as yet, but you've got some first-class material to work on. You're a little weak at the end of the line, and right tackle can stand a lot of improvement. But all the fellows seem willing, and that goes a long way. I didn't see one that appeared to be holding back."

"That fullback of yours is a peach," broke in Hadley. "He comes pretty near to being a team in himself. If he once gets a start, there's nothing that can ever catch him."

"He's the fastest man in college," replied Hendricks. "He's the fellow that carried off the Marathon at the Olympic Games in Berlin. And he's as game as he is speedy. You ought to have seen the way he stood McAlpin on his head when we played the Army. That fellow was as big as a house and as full of grit as a gravel path, but he wasn't one-two-three with Wilson. If all the boys were like him I'd have the championship won right now."

"What made a hit with me," commented Lawrence, "was that classy bit of dodging when he went down the field for sixty yards toward the end of the game. At least six of them tried to stop him, but he slipped by them like a ghost. And yet he ran almost in a straight line. All the dodging was done by the swaying of his hips and shoulders. A man that can do that comes pretty near to being the king of them all."

"You haven't any kick coming on your center and quarterback either," broke in Allen. "Jove, they're a pair of dandies. They work together like a well-oiled machine. They're playing with their heads as well their feet all the time. They've got the snap-back and the forward pass down to perfection. And they're a stone wall when it comes to the defense."

"Two of my very best," assented Hendricks, "and as sandy as the Sahara desert. It's around those three that I've had to build up my team."

"Those three," all unknowing of the comments that were being made on their work, were at the moment engaged in getting their bath and rubdown, never more grateful than just now after their strenuous labors of the afternoon.

"That was a course of sprouts for fair," remarked Tom when they were putting on their clothes.

"They certainly put us through our paces," assented Dick. "I haven't been so tired since the Army game."

"Just what we dubs needed," affirmed Bert. "Did you notice the snap and pepper in the team? It's the first time for a week that we've known we were alive. We're going to be a real football team after all. 'The cat came back,' and why shouldn't we?"

"I suppose it was due to that lot of 'old grads' looking on," surmised Tom. "Gee, when I thought of all those fellows leaving their work and traveling hundreds of miles for the sake of the old college, it made me ashamed of myself. I felt like going through a knot hole and drawing the hole in after me."

"Same here," said Dick. "And they can bully-rag me all they like. There'll be never a squeal from me. I'll work my head off to show them that we're fit to wear the Blue."

"Hear! hear!" exclaimed Bert. "That's the real tobasco. And I'll bet there isn't a fellow on the team that doesn't feel the same way."

They were still stirred by this feeling of elation when, after a hearty supper, they reached their rooms. What was their surprise on opening the door to find Axtell sprawled out in a chair, his feet upon the window sill. He grinned affably.

"Come right in and make yourself at home," he greeted.

"What are you doing here, you old flunker?" laughed Bert.

"Take back them cruel woids," demanded Axtell. "Flunker," he went on meditatively, "it hath a right knavish sound. Beshrew me, if I fling it not back in the teeth of any caitiff knight that dare put such shame upon me."

A great light dawned upon them.

"What!" cried Dick. "You old rascal. You don't mean to say that you've worked off your conditions?"

"You speak sooth," was the reply, "albeit your wonder at the same pleasureth my pride but little. For less than that my sword hath ofttimes drunk the blood of churls."

They fell upon him and pounded him till he was out of breath.

"Glory hallelujah!" shouted Tom.

"The best news I've heard since Hector was a pup," declared Dick.

"Now we've got a fighting chance," exulted Bert. "By Jove, old scout, you don't know how the team has missed you."

Axtell flushed with pleasure.

"Maybe I won't be glad to get back with the gang again," he ejaculated. "Gee, for the last two weeks I've felt like a sneak. I can't forgive myself for getting in such a fix, just when we were in such good shape and going like a house afire. You bet that from now on my record will be as clean as a hound's tooth."

"Bully!" said Bert. "I think you've done wonders though, to get rid of the conditions so soon. You must have worked like a horse."

"I've worked all right," said Axtell grimly. "It was the least I could do, heaven knows. Some nights I haven't gone to bed at all. Even at that, I felt a little skittish when I went up for my exam. But I was desperate and went in largely on my nerve. When the Prof. looked over my papers I thought I heard him mutter to himself something that sounded like: 'All Gaul is divided into three parts and you've got two of them.' But that may simply have been my guilty conscience. At any rate I got away with it, and the old sport gave me a clean bill of health."

"It's like getting money from home," affirmed Dick. "Maybe 'Bull' Hendricks won't be tickled to death. He'll kill the fatted calf if he can find one straying loose around the training quarters."

"O, he'll fall on my neck all right—with a club," remarked Axtell drily. "When it comes to disguising his joy, 'Bull' is a dandy actor."

"Don't you believe it," said Bert. "But how about your accomplice in crime?"

"O, Hodge will be coming along soon," was the reassuring reply. "He's been working just as hard as I have or harder. But he's had two to make up, where I had only one. He's hired a tutor to coach him and is cramming away like mad. He told me this morning he thought he'd be ready to go into the torture chamber by the end of this week."

"That'll be all to the merry," jubilated Tom. "Honest, Axtell, we've been all at sea since you fellows have been away. Winston has done fairly well at tackle, but he can't seem to start quickly enough when it comes to blocking. 'Bull' has been trying out Chamberlain in place of Ellis, but he gets mixed on the signals. He plugs away like a beaver, but finds it hard to get them straight. Morley is doing fine work at half, but he can't fill your shoes when it comes to tackling. Of course I don't know what 'Bull' will do, but I have a hunch that he'll take Chamberlain out and put Morley there permanently, as there isn't a chance in the world for Ellis to come back in time."

"Poor old Ellis," mourned Bert. "Game to the core, that boy. It nearly broke his heart when his ankle went back on him, but he never whimpers. He hopes to be out on crutches in time to see the big games. Told me yesterday, when I dropped in to see him, that when it came to yelling for the boys we'd find his voice was all right even if his leg was on the blink."

"Plucky old scout," agreed Axtell, "and one of the best men we had. But now I must be going. I'll toddle over and give 'Bull' a chance to welcome back the prodigal son. It'll be an affecting greeting," he grinned.

But if he had expected to be "skinned alive" for his shortcomings, he was agreeably disappointed. The coach was too delighted at the strengthening of the team to dwell too much or too sternly on the defection that had thrown it out of gear. He gave him a fatherly talk, pointed out the necessity of keeping his studies up to the mark from that time on, and put it up to him to "play the game" both in the classroom and on the field for all it was worth. Then he dismissed him with an injunction to turn up early for practice the following day.

The reinstated halfback went away with his eyes shining and his heart elate. Once more "his foot was on his native heath." And the dignified "Bull," after a cautious glance around to make sure that no one was looking, indulged himself in the luxury of an impromptu Highland fling.



CHAPTER X

IN THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY

ONE afternoon, after practice, "Bull" Hendricks called Bert aside and said: "I want you to stay a few minutes after the others have gone, Wilson. Reddy and I have something we want you to do."

"All right," was the reply, and accordingly, after the other members of the squad had finished dressing and had left the dressing room Bert lingered behind. In a few minutes the coach walked into the apartment, followed by Reddy.

"Reddy and I," began Hendricks, "have decided that we want something a little more definite than rumor concerning one or two of the rival teams. We have talked the matter over, and what we want you to do is this. Next Saturday afternoon, as of course you know, the 'Maroons' and 'Greys' are scheduled to play off the game that was postponed on account of bad weather. We want to get a line on the two teams, but both Reddy and myself are too busy just at present to take the time off. But we thought you could go over and size things up about as well as we could. You understand the game thoroughly, and in addition I believe know how to use your head for something besides eating."

"You compliment me more highly than I deserve," laughed Bert. "But," more seriously, "I'll be glad to do anything you want me to that will be of any service in helping the team to win."

"Well, it will be a help," said the coach. "We hear one thing to-day, and the exact opposite to-morrow, so we never know what to believe. But if you go and see this game, you ought to be able to get a pretty fair line on the real state of affairs."

"The only trouble is," worried Reddy, "that the team will practically miss a whole afternoon's practice, because it's not much we can do without Wilson."

The little trainer would never have made this admission had he not been very sure of his man. But he knew Bert's sterling character well enough to be sure that the remark would cause no case of "swelled head."

"We'll get along some way," said Hendricks, "and the team is in good enough shape now to afford taking it easy one afternoon. We'll just practice on signals, and they'll be all the better for a little let up."

"In that case," suggested Bert, "why couldn't I take Dick and Tom along with me? You know the old saying that 'two heads are better than one,' and on the same plan, three heads ought to be better than two."

"At that rate you'd have the entire college going over there and giving the whole thing away," grunted Hendricks, "but I suppose you might as well take them along. The chances are you won't be noticed in the crowd, and if you are there's no special harm done. There's no law against players from one team going to see another team play."

"An' what's more," put in Reddy, "I don't believe one o' them can think real well unless the other two is hangin' around somewheres close by. It sure beats the Dutch, the way them three lads holds together."

"Well," said Bert, "that 'holding together,' as you call it, has been a mighty good thing for each of us at one time or another. Looked at in one light, it's a sort of mutual benefit affair."

"Whatever it is, it seems to work pretty well," remarked Hendricks, "and it's results that always make a big hit with me."

They then proceeded to arrange the details, and it was decided that the three boys should leave immediately after breakfast on Saturday. When everything had been settled Bert took leave of the coach and trainer and sought out his friends.

After he had explained the plan to them, Tom threw a book he had been studying into a far corner, and gave a shout of delight which was echoed by Dick.

"Some class to us, all right," exulted Tom; "it shows old Hendricks must have some confidence in us, even though he'd probably be pulled to pieces before he'd admit it."

"I suppose he must have," grinned Dick, "although up to this time I will confess that I never suspected it."

"Well, we'd better not look a gift horse in the mouth," said Bert. "The fact remains that we're in for an afternoon of good sport. It will certainly be a pleasure to me to watch somebody else play football for a change. And before the afternoon is over, you can take it from me I'm going to know all about the comparative strength of their teams and ours that there is to know."

"Well, you may be able to learn something, seeing that I'll be along to explain the fine points of the game to you and see that you understand what is going on," said Tom. "I suppose the coach realized that there wouldn't be much use in sending you over alone, and that's why he told you to ask us to go too."

"You certainly hate yourself, don't you?" grinned Bert. "However, I won't lower myself to answer you, merely remarking in passing that your words are only worthy of the deepest contempt."

"Is that so?" replied Tom. "I'm afraid if you pull much more of that stuff I'll have to find a quiet nook for you in my private graveyard. I'd have done it before only that I find myself somewhat overcrowded even now."

"Say, cut out that nonsense, you two, and get down to business, will you?" interrupted Dick. "What time are we supposed to leave here, Bert?" he asked.

"Right after lunch," responded that individual. "I'll get a time table, and we'll see what will be the best train to take."

"I know a better way to go than by train," said Dick.

"What's that—walk?" inquired Tom sarcastically.

"Please don't be any more foolish than you can help," said Dick with elaborate politeness; "what I was about to say was, that I think I know where I can borrow an automobile for the afternoon. How does that idea strike you?"

"Greatest ever," ejaculated Bert, "but where in the world are you going to get the car?"

"Leave that to your Uncle Dudley," replied Dick. "I met an old friend the other day. He's visiting relatives in the town for several weeks. He has all sorts of money, and sports two 'devil wagons.' He told me I could have the use of one any time I had a mind to ask for it, so I don't think I'll have any trouble on that score."

"That seems too good to be true," said Bert. "Suppose you look up your friend this evening after supper and make sure of getting the car. It's better to know in advance what we can count on."

"I'll do that," promised Dick, "and if I get back in time I'll let you know if everything is all right. If I get back late I'll tell you about it in the morning."

Matters were left in this state, and it was not until the next morning that the boys learned of the success of Dick's visit to the town.

When they caught sight of him in the morning, Bert and Tom did not have to question him.

"It's all right fellows," he said. "I fixed it all up, and we can have the car any time we want it. And the one we're going to use is a peach, too."

"That's certainly fine," said Tom. "We'll make the trip in tip-top style all right."

"People will think we're regular swells, for fair," agreed Bert.

"I think we'd better pose as a rich man traveling with his chauffeur and valet," said Tom. "I'll be the rich man, Dick can be the chauffeur, and Bert can be the valet."

"All right," said Bert, "but under those conditions, I insist on being paid in advance."

"So do I," grinned Dick. "I refuse to run that car a foot until I'm paid in full, a year in advance, cash down."

"If you feel that way about it," grumbled Tom, "I'll be forced to fire you both and run the car myself. All you fellows think of is money anyway, it seems to me."

"Well, if you can't pay us I suppose we'll have to pose as just three friends traveling together," laughed Bert. "That's the only way out of it that I can see."

"I'll have to let it go at that I suppose," said Tom; and after a hearty laugh the boys dispersed to their recitation rooms.

Practice that afternoon was fast and hard, and it was a tired trio that met that evening in Bert's room to make final plans for their trip the next day. They decided to walk to the garage where the automobile was kept, and Dick showed them a written order his friend had given him authorizing him to take the car out.

"Your friend has certainly done everything up in fine style," commented Bert; "he must be a good man to know."

"He's a brick," said Dick enthusiastically; "we used to be in the same class in school, and we were always good friends. I'd like to have you fellows meet him."

"Yes, I'd like to get acquainted," said Tom. "It seems funny we haven't met him before."

"Well, you see, his folks moved West when we were both youngsters, and that's the reason," explained Dick, "otherwise I suppose you would have."

"Well, probably we will before he leaves town," said Bert. "But now, how about to-morrow?"

"Why, right after breakfast to-morrow," said Dick, "we'll go straight from the training table to the garage. We won't have any more than enough time as it is. It must be a matter of a hundred miles or more, and we want to travel easy and allow for possible breakdown and delay."

As there seemed to be no objection to Dick's plan, the boys adopted it. Immediately after the morning meal they set out for the town, and after a brisk walk reached the garage.

Here they sought the proprietor, and Dick showed him the written order from Moore, his friend.

"Oh, yes, that will be all right," said the garage man. "Mr. Moore told me that you would call for the car at about this time, so I've been expecting you. There she is, over in the corner, the big gray one there."

He indicated a big gray touring car, and the three comrades walked over to it. It was, as Dick had told them, a beautiful machine, and they piled in with many expressions of admiration. As Dick had procured the car the honor of driving it naturally fell to him. He manoeuvred the big automobile skilfully out of the garage, and they were soon spinning smoothly over an ideal country road. The car behaved perfectly and Dick was enthusiastic over it.

"We could get twice the speed out of it that we are now," he exulted, "but I'm not taking any chances to-day. We owe it to the team to be careful."

"Right you are," agreed Bert. "There's no use taking risks when we don't have to. At this rate we'll eat up the distance in mighty short order anyway."

And indeed, it was no great time before they reached their destination and were bowling through the streets.

They left the car at the local garage, and made their way to the field, guided thereto by a constant stream of chattering and laughing people evidently bound for the same place. They obtained good seats and sat down to await the beginning of the game.

Before long the "Grey" players trotted out onto the field, and were shortly followed by the "Maroons." Both teams went through their preliminary practice with snap and "pep," and received enthusiastic applause from their admirers in the stands. Then the actual play began, and the three comrades noted every play and formation with the greatest attention. They were resolved to justify the coach's confidence in them, and to be able to give him an accurate line of "dope" when they returned to their Alma Mater.

The game was fast and furious, but at the end of the first half the "Maroons" were leading by one touchdown. Excitement ran high at the opening of the second half, and a battle royal began. But the "Greys" fought fiercely, and by a splendid run down the field made a touchdown and tied the score. Then, in the last three minutes of play, they forced the ball over for another touchdown, and the day was theirs.

"Well!" exclaimed Bert as they filed out with the crowd, "both those teams have the 'goods,' but I think the 'Greys' are just a shade better than the 'Maroons.'"

"I do, too," said Tom, and this seemed also to be Dick's opinion. They made their way to the garage, and as it was now almost dark, Dick lit the lamps on the car. Then they purred smoothly along the macadam road and after a delightful ride through the crisp autumn air delivered the car safely into its garage before midnight.

The next morning they were received with an uproarious welcome when they made their appearance at the training table. The other members of the team had a pretty good idea of where they had been, and assailed them from every side with questions. But they kept their own counsel, reserving their information for the ears of the coach, and knowing that he would tell the team all that he thought fit.

After the meal was over they repaired to the training quarters, where they found the coach awaiting them.

"Well," he said, "what luck?"

Speaking for his comrades, Bert related the story of the game, and the coach listened attentively. When Bert had finished, he asked a number of crisp questions of each of the three boys, and their answers seemed to satisfy him.

"Well," he growled, when at last he rose to go, "I can go ahead now with more certainty. You fellows have done better than I expected." Which from Hendricks was high praise.

"We've certainly got our work cut out for us," said Bert after the coach had departed. "I haven't a doubt in the world but what we can beat them, but just the same we'll have to do our prettiest to get the long end of the decision."

"Bet your tintype we will," said Tom; "both those teams are a tough proposition for anybody to handle. But there will be all the more glory for us when we win."

"That's the talk!" exclaimed Dick, "there's no fun in winning a game where you don't get hard opposition, anyway."

Meanwhile Hendricks had wended his way back to the training quarters, where he sought out Reddy.

He gave the red-headed trainer a brief outline of what the boys had told him, and Reddy listened attentively, once or twice breaking in with a question or two.

"So it seems," said Hendricks at last, winding up his discourse, "that the team we've really got to look out for is the 'Greys.' According to the report of our three boys, they are mighty strong on the attack, and nothing behindhand on their defense."

"It looks that way," acquiesced Reddy, nodding his head, "the lads did pretty well, don't you think?"

"They did," agreed Hendricks; "they got just the information that I was after. And what do you think," he added with a laugh, "they weren't content to go by the train or trolley, but borrowed an automobile and went in style."

"Sure, and it's like themselves," grinned Reddy, "if I was runnin' a business I'd be afraid to give those byes a job. They'd be ownin' the plant in less than a year."

"I believe they would," said Hendricks. "They're natural born winners."



CHAPTER XI

A DESPERATE FIGHT

THE day for the game with the "Maroons" broke dark and lowering. Clouds chased each other across the sky, the air was saturated with moisture and, although rain had not yet fallen, there was every prospect that it would before the day was over.

The team had been "tuned to the hour." There was not a man on it that was not fit to put up the game of his life. Each one had brought himself down to the weight at which he was most effective, their flesh was "hard as nails," and their lean bronzed faces betokened the pink of condition. If they were doomed to be beaten there could be no excuse put forth that they were not at the top of their form.

Not that they anticipated any necessity of making excuses. An air of quiet confidence was everywhere apparent. The old indomitable Blue spirit was as much in evidence as their splendid physical condition. Not that they underestimated their opponents. The "Maroons," despite their defeat of the week before by the "Greys," were formidable opponents and still full of fight. In fact, their loss of that game might be counted on to put them in a savage mood of retaliation, and nothing was more certain than that they would fight like demons to down the Blues. But the latter welcomed the prospect of a bitter fight, and were fully convinced of their ability to give harder blows than they would have to take.

"We've simply got to win to-day, fellows," said Tom as they strolled back to their rooms after breakfast.

"It's the only way we can have a clear title to the championship," remarked Bert. "It won't do us much good to lick the 'Greys' next week if we fall down to-day. In that case it will be 'even Steven.' Each team will have won and lost one and we'll be as much at sea as ever as to which has the best team."

"Then, too," added Dick, "we're fighting to-day on our own grounds and next week we'll have to play the 'Greys' on a neutral field. If we can't win now with that advantage it will be doubly hard to win then."

"We'll cop them both," said Bert with an air of finality. And this solution received the hearty approval and implicit faith of his companions. In one form or another every man on the team was swearing to himself that the prediction should come true, if it lay in human power to compass it.

As the day wore on the town took on a festal air. Flags and bunting fluttered everywhere. Special trains drew in from every point of the compass and disgorged their thousands to swell the crowds. The streets resounded with the raucous cries of the fakirs, and their wares of canes and flags were soon sold out. Groups of college boys accompanied by pretty girls wandered over the campus, and the walks under the elms resounded with song and laughter. From every city in the country "old grads" came down to renew their youth and shout themselves hoarse for their favorites. The clouded sky and threatening rain daunted them not at all. They were there to make holiday, and serenely ignored everything else. Only an earthquake or a cyclone could have kept them from coming. It might rain "cats and dogs," rheumatism and pneumonia might hang out danger signals, but they cared not a whit. They were out for the time of their lives and bound to get it.

The game was to begin at two o'clock, and after cleaning out all the restaurants in town, put to their utmost to feed the ravening horde of locusts that had swarmed down upon them, the throngs set out for the stadium. That gigantic structure could hold forty thousand people and, long before the time for the game to begin, it was crowded to repletion. On one side were the stands for the Blues and directly facing them were those reserved for the "Maroons." The occupants yelled and shouted and waved their flags at each other in good-natured defiance. At the upper end a band played popular airs that nobody cared for, and half the time in the din and tumult did not even hear. In front of the stands the cheermasters jumped up and down and went through their weird contortions, as they led the cheers and gave the signal for the songs.

The Blues were gathered in their training quarters, ready and anxious for the fight. They were like a pack of hounds straining at the leash. Reddy and his assistants had gone over every detail of their equipment, and the coach had spoken his last word of appeal and encouragement. This he had purposely made short. There was little dwelling on the game to be played, nor any attempt to rehearse signals. The time for that was past. If they were not ready now, they never would be. He had done his utmost and now the result must be left to the team and to fate.

At half past one a slight drizzle set in. Old Jupiter Pluvius had lost patience and refused to hold off until the game was over. But the general hilarity abated not a particle. It would take more than rain to drive that crowd to cover. The field had been strewn with straw to keep the ground beneath as dry as possible. Now, however, it was time for practice, and a crowd of assistants appeared and raked the straw away, showing the glistening newly-marked yard lines underneath.

Then a gate at the end of the one of the stands opened and the "Maroons," in their gaily colored jerseys, trotted on the field. The "Maroon" stands rose en masse and a torrent of cheers swept over the field as they gave the team a greeting that must have "warmed the cockles of their heart."

The boys peeled off their jerseys and commenced punting and falling on the ball. They kept this up for ten minutes and then gave way to their rivals.

Out from the other side of the field scampered the Blues. Then Pandemonium broke loose. The yells were simply deafening, and, as the home crowd let itself go, the fellows grinned happily at each other and their muscles stiffened with ardor for the fight.

"Seems as though they were glad to see us," laughed Tom, as he sent the ball whirling in a spiral pass to Bert.

"You bet," answered Bert, "and we must make them yell louder yet at the finish."

The practice was short and snappy. There was ginger in every movement and Bert's tries for goal elicited the unwilling admiration at the same time that it awakened the fear of the "Maroon" supporters.

Then the signal was given and the captains of the two teams clasped hands cordially in the middle of the field and tossed a coin for position. The "Maroons" won and, as there was not enough wind stirring to favor either goal, elected to take the kick off. The teams lined up on the "Maroon's" forty yard line. Miller kicked the ball thirty yards down the field and the game was on.

Martin made a fair catch, but before he could run back was downed in his tracks. The teams lined up for the scrimmage. Dick plunged through left guard and tackle for a gain of five yards. Axtell went through right for two more. Then the ball was given to Bert, and he went through the hole opened up by Drake and Boyd for eight more. They had gained their distance and the ball was still in their possession on the fifty yard line.

Their bucking had been so successful that they were still inclined to try the plunging game. But the "Maroons" had braced. Three successive downs failed to yield the coveted ten yards and Bert dropped back for a kick. The ball was handled with superb precision by Tom and Dick, who made a perfect pass to Bert. It was off from his toe like a flash, just escaping the "Maroon" forwards as they broke through to block. Miller made a great jumping catch, but Axtell's savage tackle downed him where he stood. The ball was now in "Maroon" territory on their twenty yard line.

It was altogether too close for comfort, and the "Maroons" made a gallant and desperate effort to get it further down the field. The Blues, however, were no less determined. Against the bull-like plunges of the enemy they held like a stone wall. Three times in succession they refused to let their foes gain an inch. It was clear that other tactics would have to be resorted to. Halliday, the "Maroon" quarter, tried a forward pass. Richmond at right end caught it and started down the field. Warren tackled him, but slipped in the mud and Richmond shook him off. His interference was good and he was off like a frightened rabbit. He had made twenty yards before Bert caught and threw him heavily. But he held on to the ball and the "Maroons" breathed more freely. The ball was still theirs, forty yards from their goal line.

"Never mind, old man," called Bert cheerfully to Warren. "A bit of hard luck, but don't let it get your goat. Any one might have slipped in such muddy going."

The narrow escape heartened the "Maroons" and they fought like wildcats. They were on the defensive and the ball stayed in their territory. But the utmost efforts of the Blues failed to make substantial gains, and when the whistle blew at the end of the quarter neither side had scored.

By this time the rain was coming down in torrents. The stands were a mass of glistening umbrellas and shining raincoats. The flags and decorations no longer waved defiantly, but hung dank and dripping. The field beneath the rushing feet of the players had been churned into a sea of mud, and this was plastered liberally on the uniforms of the teams. In the minute's interval between quarters a host of trainers' assistants rushed from the side lines with sponges and towels and tried to get their charges in some kind of shape.

When the next quarter started the play was fast and furious. The teams had sized each other up and got a line on their respective line of play. Each side realized that the battle was for blood, and that it had in the other a worthy foeman. There would be no walkover for anybody that day.

Floundering and slipping in the mud, the Blues steadily pounded their way down to the "Maroon's" goal. Morley made a successful dash around left end, netting twenty yards. On a forward pass Caldwell fumbled, but Tom made a dazzling recovery before the enemy could pounce upon the ball. Bert found a gap between left and tackle and went through with lowered head for twelve yards before the "Maroons" fell on him in a mass. Then the Blues uncovered the "Minnesota shift"—one of "Bull" Hendrick's pet tricks—and they went through the bewildered "Maroons" for twenty yards. Another trial of the same shift was smothered and a daring end run by Hudson of the "Maroons" brought the ball to the middle of the field. Four unsuccessful attempts failed to advance it and it went to the Blues on downs.

The ball was now on the "Maroons'" forty yard line and there were only two minutes left of playing time. The "Maroon" defence had stiffened and it was a practical certainty that line bucking could not avail in that limited time, so Bert dropped back for a kick. Tom snapped it back to Dick, who with the same motion made a beautiful pass to Bert. With all the power of his mighty leg he swung on it and lifted it far and high. Straight as an arrow it winged its way toward the "Maroons'" goal.

A tremendous shout had gone up as the ball left his toe, but then followed a deadly silence as they watched its towering flight. Would it go over the posts and score three points for the Blues or would it go to one side just enough to give the "Maroons" a new lease of life?

Now the ball had reached its highest point and was falling in a swift curve toward the goal. As it neared the posts it seemed for a moment to hesitate. Then, as though it had made up its mind, it swooped suddenly downward and crossed the goal bar, just grazing it. The goal had counted and a groan went up from the "Maroon" stands, while those in the Blues leaped to their feet waving their flags and cheering like madmen.

Tom danced a jig on the field and threw his arms about Bert, and the other fellows coming up swarmed around him with frantic congratulations. And just then the second half ended and both teams went to their quarters for the fifteen minutes' rest that marks the half of the game. Here they changed quickly into fresh uniforms and braced themselves for the second and decisive half. Naturally the confidence was on the side of the Blues, but the lead was not large, and as yet it was anybody's game.

"You've got them started," exhorted Hendricks. "Now keep them on the run. Don't let up for a minute. Hit them, hammer them, tear their line in pieces. I want you to roll up a score that will scare the 'Greys' before we tackle them."

The advice was good in theory and the will was not lacking to carry it out in practice. But the "Maroons" had other views and from the moment they came on the field it was evident that they had taken a brace. They were yet a long way from giving up the ghost. After all, the field goal had only counted three points, and a touchdown would not only even this up but put the Maroons in the lead.

To get that touchdown they worked like fiends. Berriman kicked the ball out of bounds and Flynn fell upon it, sliding along in the mud and water as he did so. The ball was brought in at the Blues' forty yard line and the teams lined up for the scrimmage. Adams slammed through left tackle for five yards. Gibbons with lowered head butted into center, but Dick threw him back for a loss of two. Hudson skirted left end, cleverly dodging Caldwell and making twelve yards, before Tom leaped upon him and downed him heavily. But the ball was under him and the "Maroons" had more than made their distance on the four downs.

Once more they lined up, and now the Blues were on the defensive. Boyd had hurt his knee and Chamberlain came running out to take his place. Instead of reporting to the referee, he spoke first to one of his comrades, and for this violation of the rules the Blues were penalized five yards. A moment later they lost five more through off-side play by Warren. Ten precious yards thrown away when every one was beyond price! And now the jubilant "Maroons" were within fifteen yards of the goal, and their partisans were on their feet yelling like wild men.

Panting, crouching, glaring, the two teams faced each other. The "Maroons" consulted for a moment. Should they try a kick for goal, yielding three points if successful and tieing the score, or buck the line for a touchdown which would put them in the lead? The first was easier, but the latter more profitable if they could "put it over." They might never be so near the line again, and they thought that they saw signs of wavering among the Blues. They decided then to try for the greater prize and buck the line.