"How's the knee, Thayer?" he asked anxiously.

"Much better, thanks," replied Clint, more optimistically than truthfully. Turner nodded.

"That's good," he said approvingly. "Go easy with it, old man, and don't take chances. Conklin says it's only a bruise, but knees are funny things. You don't want to get water on it. We need you too much, Thayer. Come on down to the bench."

"Thanks, but I'm waiting for Byrd. Did Conklin say how long I'd be out?"

"No, but you needn't worry, I guess. A couple of days more will put you all right." Turner nodded and hurried back to where "Boots" was making the line-up. When the squad took the field Clint saw that Cupples had taken his place at right tackle and that Robbins was at left. This, he reflected with some satisfaction, was doubtless because Robbins was not quite so good as he, Clint, and the left of the 'varsity line was the strongest. Hinton's piping voice sang the signals and the squad, followed by the substitutes, began its journeys up and down the gridiron. Amy joined Clint presently, still lugging his pewter trophy, and the two boys leaned back against the seat behind them and looked on. Clint, when the squad was near enough for him to hear the signal, translated for Amy's benefit, as: "Right half outside of left guard. Watch it!" or "Here's a forward to Turner, Amy. There he goes! Missed it, though. That was a punk throw of Martin's."

"It's all well enough for you fellows to pretend that you know what's going to happen when the quarter-back shouts a lot of numbers to you," observed Amy, hugging his knees and exposing a startling view of crushed-raspberry socks, "but I'm too old a bird—no pun intended this time—to be caught. Besides, I played once for a couple of weeks, and I know that signals didn't mean anything to me."

"Funny you didn't make a success of it!" chuckled Clint.

"The quarter-back just bawls out whatever comes into his head and then he tosses the ball to whichever chap looks as if he was wide enough awake to catch it and that chap makes a break at the line wherever he happens to think he can get through," continued Amy convincedly. "All this stuff about signals is rot. Now we'll see. Where's this play going?"

Clint listened to the signal. "Full-back straight ahead through centre," he said.

"What did I tell you?" Amy turned in triumph. Clint laughed.

"Otis got the signal wrong," he explained, "and crossed in front of Martin."

"Oh, certainly! Yes, indeed!" agreed Amy with deep sarcasm. "Honest, Clint, I think you really believe that stuff!"

"I have to," grunted Clint. "Here it goes right this time."

The signal was repeated and Martin dashed forward, took the pigskin at a hand-pass and went through the centre. Amy grunted. "You just happened to guess it," he said. "Where are they going?"

"Over to scrimmage with the 'varsity. Come along."

"Would you?" asked Amy doubtfully. "Somehow I hate to see the 'varsity trampled on and defeated, Clint. Would you mind asking 'Boots' to be merciful today! Tell him you've got a friend with you who's soft-hearted and hates the sight of blood."

Amy made himself particularly objectionable during the ensuing half-hour. The 'varsity was in fine fettle today and ripped the second team wide open for three scores in the two periods played. Amy pretended to think that every 'varsity success was a second team victory.

"There, that 'varsity fellow has taken the ball across the line, Clint! Isn't that great? How much does that count for the second? Six, doesn't it? My, but your team is certainly playing wonderful football, chum. What I don't understand, though, is the—the appearance of satisfaction displayed by the 'varsity, Clint. Why is that? Carmine is patting Kendall on the back just as if he had done something fine! I suppose, though, that they're so used to being defeated that they can pretend they're pleased! Let me see, that makes the score 13 to for the second, eh?"

"Oh, dry up!" laughed Clint. "The 'varsity's having one of its good days, that's all, and we're playing pretty rotten. We have to let them win once in a while. If we didn't they might not play with us. There goes St. Clair in for Still."

"I hear that Still is fairly punk this Fall," said Amy. "Too bad, too, for he was a dandy man last year. He had some sort of sickness in the Summer, Freer tells me. Still never said anything about it for fear he'd lose his place."

"That so? I'm sorry for Still, for he's a nice chap, but that St. Clair is surely a wonder, Amy. He hasn't any weight to speak of, but he's the fastest backfield man they've got, with the exception of Marvin, maybe."

"Well, I don't know much about the game," said Amy, "but it seems to me that Carmine is a better quarter than Marvin. He seems to have more ginger, don't you think?"

"Perhaps, but Marvin's a steadier fellow. More dependable. Handles punts a heap better. Knows a lot more football than Carmine. I like the way Carmine hustles his team, though. I reckon Marvin will have to get a hump on him or he'll be losing his job."

"Which is the fellow who has your place, Clint?"

"The tall fellow on this end; just pulling his head-guard down; see him?"

"Yes. How is he doing?"

"Mighty well, I'd say," responded Clint ruefully. "He's playing better than I've ever seen him play all Fall. There he goes now! Let's see if he gets under the ball."

Martin had punted, a long, high corkscrew that "hung" well and then came down with a rush toward the waiting arms of Kendall. Captain Turner had got away with Robbins at his heels, but Lee, the other end, had been sent sprawling by Edwards, of the 'varsity, and Cupples, playing right tackle, was far behind the kick. Carmine dived at Turner as the ball settled into Kendall's arms, and brought him down, and Robbins threw himself at the runner. But Kendall leaped aside, spinning on a heel, and Robbins missed him badly. It was a second team forward who finally stopped Kendall after the latter had raced across four white lines. Amy observed Clint severely.

"Why that unholy smirk on your face?" he asked.

"I wasn't," denied Clint.

"You was! It pleased you to see Robbins miss the tackle, and you needn't deny it. I'm surprised at you, Clint! Surprised and pained. You should feel sorry for the poor dub, don't you know that?"

"Yes, I know it," replied Clint.

"Well, are you?"

"I am not!"

"Neither am I," said Amy, with a chuckle. "I hope he misses 'em all and bites his tongue!"

A few minutes later the second again covered itself with glory, according to Amy, when Harris of the 'varsity skirted its left end and romped across the goal line for a third touchdown. Amy applauded with glee and thumped Clint on the shoulder. "Bully for our side, Clint!" he gloated. "We've gone and made the 'varsity score another touchdown for us! Oh, but we're the snappy little heroes, what? Let's see if Jack can kick a goal and give us another point. Now then! There we go! Did he or didn't he?"

"He did," replied Clint gloomily.

"Fine! That puts the second 20 to 0, eh? Say, you've got a team there to be proud of, old top! Never again will I cast aspersions on it, or—What's up? Why the—the exodus?"

"They're through. Come on home."

"Couldn't stand the punishment any longer, eh?" asked Amy cheerfully. "Ah, poor, disgraced, downtrodden 'varsity! My heart bleeds for them, Clint! I could sit me down and weep—"

"You'll weep all right if you don't shut up!" declared Clint savagely. "And don't walk so fast. I've got a bum knee."

Halfway to Torrence Amy stopped suddenly and clasped a hand to his forehead. "Woe is me!" he declaimed.

"What is it?" asked Clint impatiently.

"I've left my pretty little trophy behind. I'll have to beat it back, Clint, and rescue it. Can't you picture the poor little thing sitting there all alone in pathetic solitude, forlorn and deserted?"

"I'll bet no one would steal it," said Clint unkindly.

"Perhaps not, perhaps not, but suppose it rained, Clint, and it's little insides got full of water! I mustn't risk it. Farewell!"

Amy didn't get back to the room until half an hour later, but he had his precious tennis trophy, and explained as he placed it on top his chiffonier and stood off to view the effect, that he had stopped at the courts to learn the results and afterwards at Main Hall to get mail. "Brooks and Chase won two straight," he said, "just as I expected they would. What did I do with that score-sheet, by the way? Oh, here it is." He drew it from an inner pocket of his jacket, and with it a blue envelope which fell to the floor. He picked it up, with a chuckle. "Look at this, Clint. I found it in the mail and nearly had heart disease. Too well do I know those blue envelopes and Josh's copper-plate writing! Catch it. I tried to think of something I'd done, and couldn't, and then I opened it and found that thing!"

Clint drew a sheet of paper from the blue envelope. On it was pasted a short newspaper clipping and above the clipping was written in the principal's minute writing: "Thought you'd like to see this. J.L.F." Clint read the clipping:

"Wharton, Oct. 24—The Stamford police yesterday took into custody James Phee and William Curtin, charged with numerous burglaries throughout the state within the past month, among them that of Black and Wiggin's jewelry store in this city a fortnight ago. The suspected men were trying to dispose of a small roadster automobile when arrested and their willingness to part with it at a ridiculously low figure placed them under suspicion. This car is presumably the one with which they operated and successfully escaped arrest for so long. The Stamford police are trying to find the real owner of the car. It is believed that the two men got away with at least four thousand dollars' worth of goods of various kinds during their recent campaign, of which none has been recovered except that stolen from Black and Wiggin. In that case almost a thousand dollars' worth of jewelry which the burglars secured by blowing the safe was discovered the following day buried in the ground on property belonging to Thomas Fairleigh about four miles from town, a piece of detective work reflecting great credit on Chief Carey."

"I notice," commented Clint with a smile, "that no credit is given to Amory Byrd and Clinton Thayer for their share in the discovery."

"I should say not! Maybe it's just as well, though. Newspaper notoriety is most unpleasant, Clint. Besides, we didn't do so badly!" Amy pulled out his gold watch and frowned at it intently. "It's an awful exact sort of a thing, though. It hasn't lost or gained a second in two weeks. I'm not sure that I approve of a watch with so little—er—sense of humour!"



CHAPTER XIV

THE TEAM TAKES REVENGE

Clint's knee remained painful for more than a week, during which time he took no part in practice except, at "Boots'" direction, to watch from the bench and, later, to follow the squad during signal work. Meanwhile the obnoxious Robbins—who was in reality a very decent fellow and one whom Clint could have liked had they not been rivals—was performing quite satisfactorily without displaying any remarkable brilliance. Coach Robey made two changes in the line-up of the 'varsity on Thursday of that week in preparation for the game with Chambers Tech. St. Clair went in at left half-back, vice Still, and Blaisdell ousted Churchill at left guard. The Chambers contest was one which Brimfield wanted very much to win. Last year Chambers had thoroughly humiliated the Maroon-and-Grey, winning 30—9 in a contest which reflected little credit on the loser. Brimfield had been caught in the middle of a bad slump on that occasion. This year, however, no slump was apparent as yet and the school thirsted for and expected a victory decisive enough to wipe out the stigma of last Fall's defeat. The game was to be played at Brimfield, a fact which was counted on to aid the home team. The school displayed far more interest in Saturday's game than in any other on the schedule except, of course, the final conflict with Claflin, and displayed a confidence rather out of proportion to the probabilities. For Chambers had played six games so far this Fall, to Brimfield's five, and had won five of them and tied the other, a record superior to the Maroon-and-Grey's.

There was no practice that afternoon for the second and so Clint witnessed the Chambers game from the grand-stand in company with Amy and Bob Chase. Chase was a Sixth Form fellow, long, loose-jointed and somewhat taciturn. He with his partner, Brooks, had won the doubles in the tennis tournament a few days previously. Before the game was more than five minutes old he had surprised Clint with the intimate knowledge he displayed of football. Possibly Amy discerned his chum's surprise; for he said: "I forgot to tell you, Clint, that Bob is the fellow who invented the modern game of American football, he and Walter Camp together, that is. And I've always suspected that Bob gives Camp too much credit, at that!"

"I played four years," said Chase quietly, "and was crazy about it. But I got a broken collar-bone one day and my folks were scared and asked me to give it up. So I did."

Clint pondered that. He wondered if he would be so complaisant if his parents made a like request, and greatly feared he wouldn't.

"You must have hated to do it," he said admiringly.

Chase nodded. "I did. But I argued it like this. Dad was paying a lot of good money for my education, and he hasn't very much of it, either, and if he didn't want to risk the investment I hadn't any right to ask him to. Because, of course, if I went and busted myself up I'd be more or less of a dead loss. Any amount of education doesn't cut much figure if you can't make use of it."

"N-no, but—fellows don't get really hurt very often," replied Clint.

"Not often, but there was no way of proving to dad's satisfaction that I mightn't, you see. And then, once when we went to a Summer resort down in Maine there was a chap there, a great, big six-footer of a fellow, who used to be wheeled around on a reclining chair. He'd got his in football. And that rather scared me, I guess. Not so much on my account as on dad's. I knew he'd be pretty well disappointed if he paid for my school and college courses and in return got only an invalid in a wheel-chair."

"So, very wisely," said Amy, "you dropped football and took up a gentleman's game?"

"Well, I'd always liked tennis," conceded Chase. "Funny thing, though, that, after all, I got hurt worse in tennis than I did in four years of football." Clint looked curious and Chase went on. "I was playing in a doubles tournament at home Summer before last and my partner and I hadn't worked together before and there was a high one to the back of the court and we both made for it. I got the ball and he got me; on the back of the head with his full force. I dropped and they had me in bed three weeks. Concussion, they called it. I thought so too."

Clint glanced reflectively at his knee. "I reckon a fellow does take chances in football," he murmured. "I'd hate to give it up, though."

"I have an uncle," said Chase, "who used to play football a long time ago, when he was in college. In those days about everything went, I guess. He told me once that he used to be scared to death every time he started in a hard game for fear he'd get badly injured. Said it wasn't until someone had jabbed him in the nose or 'chinned' him that he forgot to be scared."

"I know the feeling," observed Amy. "Once when I was playing a chap jumped on me when I was down and dug his knee into my chest till I thought he'd caved me in. I was so mad I tried to bite his ankle!"

"He had a narrow escape from hydrophobia, didn't he?" mused Clint.

The first two periods of the Chambers game aroused little interest. Both teams played listlessly, much, as Amy put it, as if they were waiting for the noon whistle. There was a good deal of punting and both sides handled the ball cleanly. Neither team was able to make consistent gains at rushing and the two periods passed without an exciting incident. Amy was frankly bored and offered to play Chase a couple of sets of tennis. Chase, however, chose to see the game through.

"They'll wake up in the next quarter," he predicted. "They've both been feeling the other fellow out. You'll see that our fellows will start in and try to rush the ends when they come back. After they've spread Chambers' line a bit they'll hammer the guards, I guess. I think Chambers will try to punt into scoring distance and then let loose."

"A score in each period will be the best either side will do, I reckon," said Clint.

But Chase shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "Maybe there won't be any scoring in the third period, but you'll find that the fur will fly in the last. Only thing is, I don't know whose fur it will be!"

"Well, I'll be glad to see some action," remarked Amy, yawning. "Compared to tennis this game is a regular 'cold water sit-around'!"

"What's that?" laughed Clint.

"Oh, that's a party where you don't get anything but a glass of water in the way of refreshments, and you sit around in a circle and tell stories."

"I reckon you're a big hit at those parties," said Clint. "When it comes to telling stories—"

But the rest of Clint's remark was drowned by the cheer that went up as the Maroon-and-Grey trotted back around the corner of the grand-stand. A moment later Chambers returned from her seclusion and her warriors dropped their grey-blue blankets and began to run up and down to stretch their muscles. Chase watched approvingly.

"An awfully fit-looking lot," he said. "I like them rangey, don't you, Thayer?"

"Yes, I think so. They do look good, don't they? They must average older than our fellows."

"At least a year, I'd say. Not much 'beef' on any of them. Hello, Robey's sending Tyler in at right tackle! Wonder why. Trow wasn't hurt, was he?"

"Hurt!" scoffed Amy. "How the dickens could anyone get hurt? He probably fell asleep in the gym and they didn't like to wake him!"

"Carmine's gone in for Marvin," said Clint.

"That means that Robey wants things shaken up a bit. Marvin's a good, sure player, but he lacks punch, Thayer."

"I know. He doesn't seem to be able to get the speed out of the fellows that Carmine does."

It was Chambers' kick-off and the ball travelled to the five-yard line. Carmine let it bound out, touched it back and the teams went back to the twenty. Carmine showed his ginger at once. His shrill voice barked out the signals impatiently and Kendall set off around his own left end. The two teams raced across the field, Kendall searching for an opportunity to cut in and finding none until he was almost at the side line. Then he twisted ahead for a scant three yards and Brimfield cheered.

Another try at the same end netted two yards more, and then Harris faked a punt and shot the ball to Edwards, who was downed for no gain although he made the catch. Harris punted to Chambers' forty yards and Edwards got the runner neatly. Chambers smashed through Hall for two, through Tyler for two more and punted on third down. Kendall caught near the edge of the field and ran back twelve yards before he was forced out near his twenty-five. A yard gain on the short side put the runner over the line and the ball was brought in. St. Clair tried right tackle for no gain and Kendall made four outside the same opponent. Harris punted high and short and Chambers made a fair catch on her forty-two yards. A fake attack on the left of the line fooled the Brimfield backs and Chambers came around the right end for seven yards. She made her distance in two more tries and placed the ball in Brimfield territory. But a smash at the centre was hurled back and on the next play she was caught holding and penalised. A forward pass grounded and Chambers punted to Brimfield's twenty where Carmine caught and dodged back for fifteen behind excellent interference.

"That," commented Thayer, "was real football. Now, then, Brimfield, show 'em what!"

End attacks, diversified by feints at the line, took the pigskin to Chambers' forty-four yards, and the Maroon-and-Grey supports were cheering loudly. Then Fate interposed and Carmine fumbled, a Chambers forward falling on the ball.

"That's the trouble with Carmine," grumbled Clint. "He fumbles too plaguey much."

Brimfield was over-anxious and Roberts was caught off-side. Chambers worked a double-pass and made six around Roberts' end. Two attacks on Tyler gave the visitor the other four and made it first down on Brimfield's forty-yard line. Again the home team was set back for being off-side. Chambers came through right guard for three and worked Edwards' end for four more. With seven to go, a forward pass was tried and succeeded for enough to make the distance. Things were waking up now with a vengeance and Amy was no longer demanding action. Instead, he was shuffling around on the edge of his seat, watching events breathlessly. Chambers was down to her opponents' twenty-four yards now, almost under the shadow of the goal and a place-kick would score once out of twice.

But Chambers didn't want the mere three points to be gained by the overhead route. Instead, suddenly displaying a ferocity of attack never once hinted at in the first half of the contest, she hurled her fast backs at the Brimfield wings and bored through twice for two-yard gains. Then a fake forward-pass deceived the defenders and the Chambers full-back broke through past Innes and Blaisdell for a full six yards and another first down. There seemed no stopping her then. Carmine was scolding shrilly and Captain Innes was hoarsely imploring the line to "get low and slam 'em back!" With only fourteen yards between her and the last white line, Chambers played like wildcats. A half fumbled behind the line, but the quarter recovered the ball and actually squirmed ahead for a yard before he could be stopped. Another attack on Tyler netted three yards more.

"Hold 'em, Brimfield! Hold 'em! Hold 'em! Hold 'em!" chanted the grand-stand. Clint was scowling ferociously and gripping his hands hard between his knees. Amy was patting his feet on the boards. Chase was studying the situation intently, outwardly quite unaffected by the crisis. "Someone," he observed, "is making a mistake there. They'll never get six yards by plugging the line. Why don't they make Brimfield open out?"

But evidently Chambers thought she could conquer by massing her attack, for once more she hurled her backs at the centre, and once more the Maroon-and-Grey yielded. But the gain was less than two yards and only one down remained.

"Fourth down and about four to go!" cried the referee.

Chambers changed her plans then, strung her backs out along her line and shifted to the left.

"Here comes a trick," muttered Clint.

"I doubt it," responded Chase. "It looks like it, and it's meant to, but I guess when it comes it'll be a straight line-buck with that careless-looking full-back carrying the ball. I hope Innes sizes it up the way I do, for—"

"Watch this!" Innes shouted. "Watch the ball! Look out for a forward! Come in here, Kendall! Throw 'em back, fellows!"

The Chambers quarter shouted his signals, the ball went to him, the two half-backs shot away to the left, the full-back plunged ahead, took the ball and struck hard, head down, at the left of centre. But Brimfield had not been fooled. Blaisdell wavered, but the secondary defence piled up behind him. The full-back stopped, struggled ahead, stopped again and then came staggering back, half the Brimfield team about him. The whistle piped, and—

"Brimfield's ball!" cried the referee. "First down right here!" He waved the linemen toward the Chambers goal and the grand-stand burst into a peal of triumph. Amy clapped Clint on the knee—fortunately it was not the injured one!—and cried: "Some team, Clint! Say, they play almost as well as the second, eh?"

And Clint, laughing delightedly, acknowledged that they did—almost!

Harris, well behind his own goal line, punted to safety, a long and high corkscrew that brought another roar of delight from the home team supporters and settled into the arms of a Chambers back near the forty-yard line. Two tries at the left wing and the whistle shrilled the end of the third period and the teams changed goals.

"Bet you it'll be a stand-off," said Amy.

"Don't want to take your money," replied Chase, with a smile.

"Who will score, then?"

"Brimfield for certain, Chambers perhaps. If Chambers scores it'll be from the field. She's killed herself."

And Chase's prophecy proved fairly correct. Chambers had shot her bolt. Brimfield secured the ball by inches on a fourth down near the middle of the field and her first desperate attack, a skin-tackle play with St. Clair carrying the pigskin, piled through for nearly ten yards, proving that Chambers was no longer invulnerable. Carmine, still in control, called for more speed and still more. The Maroon-and-Grey warriors fairly dashed to their positions after a play. Chambers called time for an injured guard and substituted two new linesmen. Kendall and Harris were poked through left tackle for good gains and St. Clair got away around left end and was not stopped until he had placed the ball on the twenty-three. A fake kick worked for a short gain through centre, Carmine carried the pigskin around left tackle for three, Harris hurled himself through the rapidly weakening centre for four more and on the next play netted the distance and a yard to spare.

The grand-stand had well-nigh emptied itself, the spectators hurrying along the side line toward the Chambers goal. Amy and Clint and Chase squirmed to the front of the crowd where Tracey Black was wildly imploring the fellows to "Keep back of the line, please! Don't get on the field, fellows!"

Chambers put in a new left half and Coach Robey sent Gafferty in for Hall. The latter had been pretty badly treated in the third quarter. The pigskin was on the Chambers twelve yards now and Carmine and Captain Innes went back and put their heads together. Then Harris joined them and the crowd along the edge of the field set up a demand for a touchdown. "We don't want a field-goal, Innes! We want a touchdown! Give us a touchdown! Touchdown! Touchdown!"

But Jack Innes apparently thought a field-goal with its accompanying three points was sufficient to try for, for Harris walked slowly back to kicking position and spread his long arms out. But no one expected a try-at-goal on first down and there was none. Harris got the ball, made believe hurl it to the left, turned and raced to the right. Kendall and Carmine bowled over an opponent apiece and Harris ducked through and was pulled down on the six yards, while some seven score excited youths danced along the side line and howled gleefully.

Again Harris went back, but this time it was Carmine himself who sought a breach in the opponent's defence and was finally upset without gain. It was third down now, with four to go. The ball was well to the right of the goal, but Harris had done harder angles than that in his time, and hardly anyone there doubted that he would manage to land the ball across the bar. For there was hardly a question but that Brimfield was to try a field-goal this time. She weakened her end defence to provide protection to the kicker, both Kendall and Roberts playing well in and leaving the opposing ends unchallenged. But if Harris was capable of dropping the ball over from that angle he failed to do it on this occasion.

Back near the eighteen yards he waited, while Carmine piped the signal, arms outstretched. Chambers feinted and danced in her eagerness to pile through. Then back went the ball, waist-high, and Harris caught it and turned it carefully. The enemy thrust and struggled. An eager left end came around and went to earth before Roberts. Confusion reigned supreme for a long moment. Then the unexpected happened. Harris swung his leg, but he didn't drop the ball to it. Instead he turned quickly, tossed it a running figure which had suddenly detached itself from the offence and threw himself in the path of a reaching Chambers forward. Off to right shot the runner with the ball. Cries, frantic gasps from Chambers! A sudden scuttling to the left to head off the attack! But the Chambers left wing had been neatly drawn in and Steve Edwards had nearly a clear field in front of him when, ten yards from the side line, he saw his chance and dodging behind St. Clair and eluding the Chambers right half-back, he fairly romped across the line!

"That," shouted Amy, whacking Chase on the back, "is what is called strategy! Get me? Strategy!"

Three minutes later Jack Innes had kicked goal and turned the six to a seven. And five minutes later still the game came to an end with Brimfield once more pounding at Chambers' door. It was generally conceded that if the contest had lasted another minute Brimfield would have added another score.



CHAPTER XV

A BROKEN FIDDLE

Brimfield trooped back across the field to the Row noisily triumphant. Two hours before had anyone suggested that it would be satisfied with anything less than three scores it would have derided the notion. Now however it was not only satisfied but elated. Those seven points looked large and noble, and the home team's victory was viewed as a masterful triumph. Chambers was credited with having put up a fine fight, with having a more than ordinarily powerful team, and there were some who even went so far as to declare that Claflin would show no better football than today's visitors had shown. But that was doubtless an exaggeration, and those who made it had probably forgotten those first two periods in which both teams played very ordinary football indeed. A fair analysis of the game would have shown that the two elevens, while playing somewhat different styles of football, had been very evenly matched in ability and condition, that both had been weak on defence and that neither had proved itself the possessor of an attack which could be depended on to gain consistently. What both teams had shown was a do-or-die spirit which, while extremely commendable, would not have availed against a well-rounded eleven evenly developed as to attack and defence. In other words, both Brimfield and Chambers had shown fine possibilities, but neither was yet by any means a remarkable team.

In some ways the visitors had outplayed Brimfield. Chambers' attack, especially between the twenty-five-yard lines, had been far more varied and effective. Her line, from tackle to tackle, had been stronger than her opponent's. Brimfield had been especially weak at the left of centre, and a resume of the game showed that Chambers had made two-thirds of her line gains through Blaisdell and Saunders. Churchill, who had replaced Blaisdell in the second half, had shown up no better on defence. At the ends Brimfield had held her own, while her backs had shown up superior to Chambers'. Chambers had outpunted Brimfield an average of five yards at a kick and had placed her punts to better advantage. In generalship both teams had erred frequently and there was little to choose between them.

But all this had no present effect on Brimfield's jubilation, and the school acted as if a most notable victory had been won. When the 'varsity team came in to supper that night it received an ovation hardly second in enthusiasm to that usually accorded it after a victory over Claflin. And perhaps, after all, the team deserved it, for when all was said and done the spirit which had been shown when they had held Chambers scoreless on the four yards and again later when they had themselves worn down the defence and gained their touchdown had been of the right sort.

Clint filled four pages of his Sunday's letter the next afternoon with a glowing and detailed account of that game, and it is to be hoped that the folks at Cedar Run enjoyed the perusal of it half as much as he enjoyed writing it. That evening he and Amy dropped in at Number 14 Hensey and found a roomful of fellows in excited discussion of the game. There was a disposition on the part of some of the fellows to consider the Claflin contest as good as won, but Jack Innes was more pessimistic.

"Look here," he interrupted finally, "you fellows talk like a lot of sick ducks. I'm blessed if I see what you're so cocky about. We beat Chambers, all right, but we didn't any more than beat them, and we had to work like the very dickens to do it. And, what's more, we only kept Chambers from scoring by the biggest piece of good luck."

"Oh, piffle, Jack!" exclaimed Still. "We had them fourth down and five to go. They couldn't have made it to save their lives!"

"They only had four to go," replied Jack, "and if they'd tried anything but a child's trick they'd likely have made it. The only way we got across was by springing a delayed pass on them when they were looking for a line-plunge."

"Bet you anything you like we could have gone straight through for that touchdown." said Still. "We had the ball on their four yards and it was only third down. Harris or Kendall could have torn that four yards off easily."

"That's your opinion," replied Jack drily. "As I remember it, though, you were not on at the time. We knew mighty well we couldn't get that four yards by playing the line. If you don't believe me, ask Robey. The first thing he said afterwards was that he was afraid we were going to send Harris at centre on that last play and that if we had we'd never have got over."

"Oh, well, we got it, anyway," observed Tom Hall cheerfully.

"Yes, we got it," agreed Jack Innes, "but I'm telling you fellows that we only just did get it, and that we've got mighty little to crow about. Our forward line wasn't nearly as good as Chambers'. You all know that. And you ought to know that if we went in against Claflin and played the sort of football we played yesterday we'd be literally swamped!"

"But, look here, Jack," protested Tracey Black warmly, "it's only mid-season, old man. You've got to acknowledge that we're in mighty good shape for the time of year."

"I'm not knocking, Tracey. I'm giving all the fellows credit for what they did yesterday, but I don't want them to get the idea in their heads that all we've got to do is mark time from now until the big game. We've got to be at least twice as good then as we were yesterday. Besides, I don't call it the middle of the season when we've got only three games to play before Claflin. The Benton game was the mid-season game. We're on the last lap now. And," he added grimly, "we've got some work ahead of us!"

"For my part," observed Amy, who had been rather bored by the discussion, "I think the whole bunch of you played pretty rottenly."

"You do, eh?" demanded Edwards. "Suppose you tell us all about it, Amy. Give us of your wisdom, O enlightened one."

"There you go," groaned Tom Hall, "talking the way he does!"

"Oh, I don't know that I care to specify which of you was the worst," replied Amy carelessly. "Possibly it was you, Steve. You had a dandy chance once to upset the referee and you deliberately side-stepped him. If you're going to play the game, boy, play it! Don't dodge any of your duties or responsibilities."

"Oh, you be blowed," laughed Edwards. "It's the sorrow of my life, Amy, that you didn't keep on with football."

"I dare say if I had I'd have shown you fellows a few things about it," replied Amy modestly. "Theoretically, I'm something of an authority on football. When you come right down to brass tacks, it's the fellow on the side line who sees most of the game. I'm considering coaching when I leave school. Take my young friend Clint here. Clint owes a whole lot to my advice and guidance. He wouldn't be where he is today if it hadn't been for me, would you, Clint?"

"I'm on the bench just now," retorted Clint drily.

"That's where you'll stay if you listen to his ravings," said Steve Edwards, amidst general laughter.

"By the way, how is that ankle of yours, Thayer?" inquired Innes.

"Pretty nearly all right, thanks. It's my knee, though."

"Oh, is it? Say, Churchill got a peach of a black eye yesterday. Seen it!"

"Rather!" replied Freer. "He looked positively disreputable, poor chap."

"The fun of it is," chuckled Hall, "that he had to address the Christian Association this afternoon. Were you there, Jack?"

"Yes. It wasn't so bad. He had a patch over it. Still, it was sort of funny to hear him talking about clean playing!"

Clint was given a clear bill of health the next day and went back to practice with a silk bandage around his knee. He was given light work and sat on the bench again while the second played two twelve-minute periods against the 'varsity substitutes. It seemed to him that Robbins fairly outplayed himself that afternoon, but he failed to take into consideration that his rival was pitted against substitutes or that his own state of mind was rather pessimistic. Practice ended early and after a shower and a rub Clint ambled across to Torrence feeling rather dispirited. The dormitory seemed pretty empty and lonesome as he entered the corridor. Even Penny Durkin's violin was silent, which was a most unusual condition of affairs for that hour of the afternoon. Clint slammed his door behind him, tossed his cap in the general direction of the window-seat and flopped morosely into a chair at the table. He had plenty of work to do, but after pulling a book toward him and finding his place he slammed it shut again and pushed it distastefully away. He wished Amy would come back, and looked at his watch. It was only a little after half-past four, though, and Amy, who was probably playing tennis, would scarcely stop as long as he was able to distinguish the balls. Perhaps it was the absence of the customary wailing of the next door violin that put Penny Durkin in mind. Clint had never been in Penny's room, nor ever said more than two dozen words to him except on the occasion of Penny's encounter with Harmon Dreer, but just now Clint wanted mightily to talk to someone and so he decided to see if Penny was in. At first his knock on the door of Number 13 elicited no answer, and he was turning away when a doubtful "Come in" reached him from beyond the closed portal. When he entered Penny was seated on the window-seat at the far end of the room doing something to his violin.

"Hello," he said not very graciously. Then, giving the newcomer a second glance, he added: "Oh, that you, Thayer? I thought it was Mullins. Come on in."

"Thought maybe you were dead," said Clint flippantly, "and dropped in to see."

"Dead!" questioned Penny vaguely.

"Yes, I didn't hear the violin, you know."

"Oh, I see." There was a moment's silence. Then Penny said very soberly: "It isn't me that's dead; it's the violin."

"Something gone wrong?" asked Clint, joining the other at the window and viewing the instrument solicitously. Penny nodded.

"I guess it's a goner," he muttered. "Look here." He held the violin out for Clint's inspection and the latter stared at it without seeing anything wrong until Penny sadly indicated a crack which ran the full length of the brown surface.

"Oh, I see," said Clint. "Too bad. Will it hurt it much?"

Penny viewed him in surprise. "Hurt it! Why, it spoils it! It'll never have the same tone, Thayer. It—it's just worthless now! I was pretty"—there was a catch in Penny's voice—fond of this old feller."

"That is a shame," said Clint sympathetically. "How'd you do it?"

Penny laid the violin down beside him on the window-seat and gazed at it sorrowfully a moment. Finally, "I didn't do it," he answered. "I found it like that an hour ago."

"Then—how did it happen? I suppose they're fairly easy to bust, aren't they?"

"No, they're not. Whoever cracked that had to give it a pretty good blow. You can see where it was hit."

"But who—Was it Emery, do you think?" Emery was Penny's room-mate, a quiet fifth form fellow who lived to stuff and who spent most of his waking hours in recitation room or school library. "He might have knocked it off, I dare say."

Penny shook his head. "It wasn't Gus and it wasn't the chambermaid. I asked them both. Besides, the violin was in its case leaning in the corner. No, somebody took it out and either struck it with something or hit it over the corner of the table. I think probably they hit it on the table."

Clint stared. "You mean that—that someone did it deliberately?" he gasped incredulously. "But, Durkin, no one would do a thing like that!"

"Of course, I've got another one," said Penny, "but it isn't like this. This is a Moretti and cost sixty dollars twelve years ago. You can't buy them any more. Moretti's dead, and he only made about three a year, and there aren't many anyhow."

"But, Durkin, who could have done it?"

Penny didn't answer; only picked up the violin tenderly and once more traced the almost imperceptible crack along the face of the mellowed wood.

"You don't mean"—Clint's voice dropped—don't mean Dreer?"

"I can't prove it on him," answered Penny quietly.

"But—but, oh, hang it, Durkin, even Dreer wouldn't do as mean a thing as that!" But even as he said it Clint somehow knew that Penny's suspicions were correct, and, at variance with his assertion, added wrathfully: "By Jove, he ought to be thrashed!"

"He said he'd get even," observed Penny thoughtfully.

Clint sat down on the end of the window-seat and looked frowningly at Penny. "What are you going to do?" he asked finally.

"Don't see that I can do anything except grin," was the reply. "If I charge him with it he'll deny it. No one saw him do it, I guess. He probably came in here early this afternoon. I have French at two, you know, and he probably counted on that. Gus never is in, anyhow. After he did it he put it back in the case, but I knew as soon as I'd opened it that somebody had been at it because my handkerchief was underneath, and I always spread it on top. If I beat him up he'll go to Josh and Josh will say it was an unwarrantable attack, or something, and I'll get the dickens. I can't afford that, because I'm trying hard for a Draper Scholarship and can't take chances. I guess he's evened things up all right, Thayer."

"It's perfectly rotten!" said Clint explosively. "If it was me I'd thrash him, scholarship or no scholarship! The mean pup!"

"You wouldn't if it might mean losing your chance of coming back after Christmas. I need that scholarship the worst way and I have a hunch that I'll get it if I don't get into trouble. I had it last year, you know. I haven't done very well with business this Fall; fellows haven't seemed to want things much. No, if Dreer figured out that I wouldn't go after him on account of the scholarship, he guessed about right. I'd like to"—Penny's voice trembled—"to half kill him, but—I won't!"

"Then tell faculty, Durkin. Have him fired out of school. Do—do something!"

"No use telling faculty; I can't prove it on him. Besides, I don't like the idea of playing baby. And, anyway, nothing I could do to Dreer would give me my violin back the way it was. It—it had a grand tone, Thayer! You've heard it!"

"Yes." Clint had to suppress a smile. "Yes, I've heard it often, Durkin. It did have a good tone; nice and—and clear."

"There isn't a better instrument made than a Moretti," said Penny sadly. "I can have it fixed so it won't show, but it won't ever be the same." He laid the violin back in the case very tenderly and spread the white silk handkerchief across the strings. "If you don't mind, Thayer, I'd just as leave you didn't say much about this."

"All right," agreed Clint gruffly. "Mind if I tell Amy, though?"

"Oh, no, only I—I'd rather it didn't get around. Some of the fellows don't like my playing, anyhow, you see, and they'd do a lot of talking."

Clint took his departure a minute later, after renewed regrets, and went back to his room. Amy was still absent and it was not until after supper that they met.



CHAPTER XVI

AMY TAKES A HAND

Clint told Amy about Penny's violin without mentioning the latter's suspicion. Amy listened with darkening face and when Clint had ended said: "Dreer, eh? It's the sort of thing you'd expect from him. What's Penny going to do?"

Clint explained about the scholarship and Amy nodded. "I see. I guess he's right. Dreer would be sure to go to Josh and Penny'd get what-for; and then it would be good-bye, scholarship! Unless—" Amy paused thoughtfully.

"Unless what?"

"Unless he could induce our friend Dreer to 'fess up."

"Not likely!"

"N-no, not very. Still—Well, I'm sorry for old Penny."

"Durkin asked me not to say anything about it, Amy."

"So you told me?" laughed the other.

"He said I might tell you. I guess he was afraid if the fellows learned of it they'd cheer!"

Amy chuckled. "Bet they would, too! Where's my dear old German dictionary?"

The two boys settled down at opposite sides of the table to study. After a few minutes, Clint whose thoughts still dwelt on Penny's tragedy, asked: "What made you think it was Dreer, Amy?"

"Eh? Oh, why, who else would it be? Shut up and let me get this piffle."

But a half-hour later, when Clint closed his Latin book and glanced across, Amy was leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head and a deep frown on his forehead. "All through?" asked Clint enviously.

"Through?" Amy evidently came back with an effort. "No, I wish I were. I was—thinking."

When nine o'clock sounded Clint sighed with relief and closed his book. Amy got up and walked to the window and threw himself on the seat. "Look here," he said finally, "Dreer oughtn't to be allowed to get away with that cute little stunt of his."

"No, but how—"

"I've been thinking." Amy thrust his hands into his pockets and a slow smile spread over his face. "Penny can't touch him, but that doesn't say I can't. I haven't any scholarship to lose."

"But you can't go and knock Dreer down for what he did to someone else," objected Clint.

"Why can't I, if I want to?"

"But—but they'd expel you or—or something."

"I wonder! Well, maybe they would. Yes, I guess so. Consequently, I'll knock him down on my own account—ostensibly, Clint, ostensibly."

"Don't be an ass," begged the other. "You can't do that."

Amy doubled a capable-looking fist and viewed it thoughtfully. "I think I can," he responded grimly.

"Oh, you know what I mean, Clint. You haven't any quarrel with Dreer."

"I told him that the next time he talked rot about how much better Claflin is than Brimfield I'd lick him. I gave him fair warning, and he knows I'll do it, too."

"All right, but he hasn't said anything like that, has he?"

"Not that I know of, but"—Amy's smile deepened—"something tells me he's going to! Come on over here where I won't have to shout at you." Amy patted the window-seat. "That door isn't so awfully thick, I'm thinking."

Clint obeyed, and for the next ten minutes Amy explained and Clint demurred, objected and, finally, yielded. In such manner was the plot to avenge Penny Durkin's wrongs hatched.

Two days later Harmon Dreer, looking for mail in Main Hall, came across a notice from the post office apprising him that there was a registered parcel there which would be delivered to him on presentation of this notice and satisfactory identification. Harmon frowned at the slip of paper a moment, stuffed it into his pocket and sought his nine-o'clock recitation. A half-hour later, however, having nothing to do until ten, he started off toward the village. He was half-way down the drive toward the east gate before he became visible from the window of Thursby's room on the front of Torrence. Amy, who had been seated at the window for half an hour, at once arose, crossed the hall and put his head in at the door of Number 14.

"Got him," he announced placidly.

Clint, who had cut a recitation to remain within call, and had been salving his conscience by studying his French, jumped up and seized his cap.

"He's about at the gate now," added Clint as they hurried down the stairs. "We'll give him plenty of time, because we don't want to meet him until he's half-way back. I knew he'd bite at that registered parcel." Amy chuckled. "He couldn't even wait until noon!"

Fifteen minutes later Harmon Dreer, returning from the post office, spied ahead of him, loitering in the direction of the Academy, two boys of whom one looked at the distance of a block away very much like the obnoxious Byrd. For choice, Dreer would have avoided Amy on general principles, but in this case he had no chance, for, unless he climbed a fence and took to the fields, there was no way for him to reach school without proceeding along the present road. Neither was it advisable to dawdle, for he had Greek at ten o'clock, it was now twelve minutes of and "Uncle Sim" had scant patience with tardy students. There was nothing for it but to hurry along, but the fact didn't improve his temper, which was already bad. To walk three-quarters of a mile in the expectation of getting a valuable registered parcel and then discover on opening it that it contained only two folded copies of a daily newspaper was enough to sour anyone's disposition! And that is what had happened to Dreer. Someone, of course, had played a silly joke on him, but he couldn't imagine who, nor did he for a moment connect Byrd's appearance on the scene with the registered parcel. When he reached the two ahead he saw that one was Byrd, as he had thought, and the other Thayer. They were so deeply in conversation that he was almost past before they looked up. When they did Dreer nodded.

"Hi, fellows," he murmured, without, however, decreasing his pace.

"Hi, Dreer!" responded Amy, and Thayer echoed him. "Say, you're just the fellow to settle this," Amy continued.

"Settle what?" asked Dreer, pausing unwillingly.

"Why, Clint says—By the way, you know Thayer, don't you?"

Dreer nodded and Amy went on.

"Well, Clint says that Claflin played two fellows on her team last year who weren't eligible. What were their names, Clint?"

"Ainsmith and Kenney," replied Clint unhesitatingly.

"Ainsmith!" exclaimed Dreer. "Kenney! Say, you don't know what you're talking about, Thayer!"

"That's what I told him," said Amy eagerly. "They were all right, weren't they? Clint says that last year was their first at Claflin and that they didn't have any right to play on the team."

"Rot! Ainsmith's been at Claflin two years and Kenney three. Where'd you get that dope, Thayer?"

"I heard it and I think I'm right," said Clint stubbornly.

"You can't be," persisted Amy. "Dreer went to Claflin last year, and he knows, don't you, Dreer?"

"Of course I know! Besides, Claflin doesn't do that sort of thing, Thayer. It doesn't have to! You'd better turn over; you're on your back!"

"That's what I heard," persisted Clint.

"You're wrong!" Dreer laughed contemptuously. "Whoever told you that stuff was stringing you. Well, I must get a move on. I've got a ten o'clock."

"But wait a minute," begged Amy. "You've got time enough. Let's get this settled." Dreer suddenly discovered that Amy was between him and the Academy and that he had a detaining hand on his arm.

"Can't, I tell you! I'll be late! Besides, there's nothing to settle. I know what I'm talking about. And if Thayer doesn't believe it all he's got to do is to look in the Claflin catalogue. I've got one in my room he can see any time he wants to."

"Sure, I know," said Amy soothingly. "I've told him you'd know all about it." Amy turned to Clint impatiently. "Dreer went to Claflin—- how many years was it? Two, Dreer?"

"Yes; that is, one and a half. I left in the Winter."

"Of course. Well, don't you see, Clint, he'd ought to know what he's talking about?"

"Maybe he ought," replied Clint rudely, "but I don't believe he does. He says Claflin doesn't do that kind of thing. If it's such a fine school why didn't he stay there?"

"You bet it's a fine school!" returned Dreer heatedly. "It's the best there is!"

"Oh, piffle," sneered Clint. "Better than Brimfield, I suppose?"

"Better than—Say, you make me laugh! There isn't any comparison. Claflin's got it all over this hole every way you look!" Dreer paused suddenly and cast a doubtful look at Amy. But for once Amy seemed unconcerned by such sentiment. His smile even seemed approving! Dreer warmed to his subject. "Of course, you fellows haven't been anywhere else and think Brimfield's quite a school. That's all right. But I happen to have gone to Claflin and I know the difference between a real school and a second-rate imitation like this! Brimfield's a regular hole, fellows, believe me! Gee, I must get on!"

"I wouldn't hurry," said Amy. Something in his tone caught Dreer's attention and he glanced around apprehensively to find Amy removing his coat.

"Wha—what do you mean, you wouldn't hurry?" he asked uneasily.

Amy hung his coat on a paling and placed his cap on top. Then he tugged his belt in another hole. And all the time he smiled quite pleasantly. Dreer moved backward toward the curb, but found Clint barring his way. His anxious gaze searched the road for help, but in each direction it was empty. He laughed nervously.

"What's the joke?" he asked.

"No joke at all, Dreer," replied Amy. "I gave you fair warning that the next time you ran down the school I'd beat you. If I were you, Dreer, I'd take off my coat."

"You dare touch me and it'll be mighty bad for you, Byrd! I'm not going to fight you, and you can't make me."

"Suit yourself about that," replied Amy, stepping toward him.

Dreer thought of flight, but it looked hopeless. Besides, a remnant of pride counselled him to bluster it out rather than run away. He laughed, not very successfully. "Two against one, eh? Wait till fellows hear about it! You won't dare show your faces, you two thugs!" Again his gaze travelled along the empty, sunlit road. "Anyway, I didn't say anything I didn't have a right to say. You asked me what I thought and I told you. You—you made me say it!"

"I did, Dreer!" Amy shook his head gently. "Think again. Surely, I didn't do that?"

"Well, he did," faltered Dreer. "And you put him up to it, I'll bet! Don't you touch me, Byrd!"

"Put your hands up!"

"I won't! You're bullies! Two against one isn't fair!"

"Thayer won't touch you. I'll attend to you alone and unaided, Dreer. Fair warning!"

"Keep away from me! You'd better! Don't you—"

Dreer picked himself up slowly from the sidewalk. There was a frightened look in his eyes.

"I don't see what you're doing this for," he half whimpered. "I haven't done anything to you."

"You spoke disrespectfully of the school, Dreer. I told you you mustn't. I'm terribly fond of the dear old school and it hurts me to hear it maligned. And then there's Durkin's violin, Dreer. Perhaps you haven't heard about that."

A gleam of comprehension flashed in the boy's face and he backed up against the fence. "I don't know anything about any violin," he muttered.

"Of course you don't, Dreer," replied Amy cheerfully. "I'm just telling you about it. Someone went into his room day before yesterday and smashed it. Isn't that a shame? You wouldn't do a thing like that, would you?"

"I didn't!" whined Dreer. "You haven't any right to blame me for it!"

"Who's blaming you for it? Perish the thought, Dreer! I'm just telling you about it."

"Then you let me go, Byrd! I didn't hurt his old fiddle!"

"Tut, tut! You mustn't think I'm knocking you around on account of that. Oh dear, no! I wouldn't have any right to do that, Dreer. What I'm doing is punishing you for speaking disrespectfully of our dear old Alma Mater. Look out for your face, Dreer!"

Dreer put up a half-hearted defence then, and for a moment the two boys circled about on the dusty sidewalk, Dreer pale and plainly scared, Amy smiling and deliberate. Then came a feint at Dreer's body, a lowering of his guard and a quick out-thrust of Amy's left fist. The blow landed on Dreer's cheek and he went staggering backward against the palings. He was too frightened to cry out. With a hand pressed to his bleeding cheek, he stared dumbly at Amy, trembling and panting. Clint, who had watched proceedings from a few yards away, felt sorry for the boy.

"That's enough, Amy," he said. "He can't fight."

"Oh, yes, he can," returned Amy sternly. "He can fight when the other fellow's smaller than he is, can't you, Dreer? And he's a very skilful arm-twister, too. I haven't got him warmed up yet, that's all. We've only started, haven't we, Dreer?"

"You—you brute!" muttered Dreer. "What do you want me to do? I—I'll do anything you say, Byrd."

"Will you? Then come away from that fence so I can knock you over again, you sneak!"

"He's had enough, Amy," pleaded Clint.

"Enough? Oh, no, he hasn't! When he's had enough he's going to tell us who smashed Durkin's violin, aren't you, Dreer? And he's going to tell us that he's been awfully mistaken in his estimate of Brimfield Academy, too. Why, he's going to just love the dear old school before I get through with him, Clint!"

"I—I tell you I didn't touch his violin," cried Dreer with a brief flash of defiance.

"There! You see?" said Amy. "His memory is still weak, Clint. Come away from the fence, Dreer."

"I won't! Let me alone! You've struck me twice, Byrd. That—that ought to be enough." He ended with a sniffle.

"Sorry," said Amy, "but I've got to arouse that memory of yours. If you won't come away from there, why—"

"Hello, hello!" said a voice. "What's the trouble, fellows?"

The three boys started. A few yards away, leaning on his cane, stood a tall man of twenty-three or four years, a mildly surprised expression on his good-looking face.



CHAPTER XVII

A STRANGER INTERRUPTS

He wore a grey flannel suit, a cap to match, and rubber-soled tan shoes. It was doubtless the latter which accounted for his unsuspected appearance on the scene. His brown eyes travelled from one to another of the little group inquiringly.

"I hope I don't intrude," he observed politely.

"I'm afraid you do, a bit," responded Amy calmly.

"They're two against one!" cried Dreer shrilly. "I didn't do a thing to them! He—he knocked me down, and cut my face, and—"

"Easy, easy!" The stranger held up a hand. "I thought from what I saw that this gentleman was quite neutral. How about it?" He turned to Clint.

"Yes, sir," answered the latter.

"I thought so. Then it's you two who are engaged in this encounter, eh? I presume it's a gentleman's affair! All fair and ship-shape?"

"Quite within the rules of civilised warfare, sir," assured Amy with a smile.

"I see. In that case don't let me detain you. Proceed with the matter in hand. Unless, that is, I may act as mediator? Is the—the question in dispute one which is open to arbitration?"

"I'm afraid not," answered Amy. "The fact is, sir, this fellow has a lamentable habit of speaking disrespectfully of his school. I have warned him that I didn't like it and he persists. What I—"

"It isn't that, sir!" cried Dreer passionately. "He says I—I broke Durkin's fiddle, and I didn't, and the rest is only an excuse to—to fight me! He hasn't any right—"

"Dreer!" protested Amy. "I've explained, even insisted that the incident of the violin has nothing to do with this—er—salutary punishment I am inflicting. I wish you wouldn't confuse things so!"

The stranger grinned. "Seems to me," he said, "all that is necessary then is for the gentleman with the ensanguined cheek to withdraw whatever derogatory remarks he may have injudiciously used. What do you think?" He appealed politely to Clint.

"Yes, sir, I—I suppose so," Clint agreed.

"That's so," said Amy, "but he is also under treatment for lapse of memory, sir, or perhaps I should say for hesitancy of speech. I am hoping that presently he will remember who did break the violin and tell us. Have we your permission to continue, sir?"

"Hm." The man's eyes twinkled appreciatively as he returned Amy's ingenuous regard. "I see that my offer of good offices was premature. Pray let the argument proceed. With your permission I'll stand by and see that everything is as it should be."

Dreer's amazement was ludicrous. "You—you mean you're going to let him knock me down again?" he demanded incredulously.

"Seems to me," replied the stranger judicially, "it's up to you whether he knocks you down. Why don't you turn the tables and do the knocking down yourself? It's a beautiful morning you've chosen, gentlemen."

"I won't fight, I tell you!" screamed Dreer. "I'll tell Fernald of this and you'll all be expelled!"

"We won't worry about that yet, Dreer," said Amy. "Come on, now. Let's get through with this."

"Keep away from me!" Dreer cried. Then he appealed to the stranger. "Make him let me alone, won't you, sir, please? I—I told him I'd do anything he said!"

"Oh, did you?" asked the man. "Then hold on a bit. What is it you want him to do, you chap in the shirt-sleeves?"

"I want him to acknowledge that he has been terribly mistaken about the school, for one thing."

"You do acknowledge that, don't you?" asked the man.

Dreer nodded almost eagerly. Amy viewed him doubtfully.

"Perhaps it would be well for him to state that he considers Brimfield Academy to be, to the best of his knowledge, the finest school in the world."

"I—I do think so," agreed Dreer sullenly. "I was just fooling."

"In fact," pursued Amy, "compared to Claflin School, Brimfield is as a gem of purest ray to a—a pebble, Dreer? You are convinced of that, are you not?"

"I suppose so."

"Only—suppose, Dreer? Couldn't you be absolutely certain?"

"Yes, I—I'm certain."

"Fine! Now, in regard to that violin, Dreer, which, you know, has nothing to do with our recent altercation. Could you find it convenient to tell us who sneaked into Durkin's room and cracked it?"

"No, I couldn't," muttered Dreer.

"You see, sir?" Amy appealed to the stranger. "Memory still pretty bad!"

"Hm, yes, I see. You think—ah—"

"Absolutely certain, sir."

"Then, perhaps, a little more—treatment—"

"My idea exactly, sir!" Amy advanced toward Dreer again, hands up. Dreer looked about at the unrelenting faces, and,

"I'll tell!" he cried. "I did it. Durkin hit me. You were there; you saw him!" He appealed to Clint. "And—and I told him I'd get even. So—so I did!" He looked defiantly about him. "I warned him."

Amy nodded and reached for his coat. The stranger held it for him and handed him his cap.

"Thank you, sir," said Amy. "That's all, Dreer. You may go."

"I—I'll get you into trouble for this, Byrd," called Dreer as he moved away. "You needn't think I'm through with you, you big bully!"

Amy made no response. The stranger was smiling amusedly at the two boys who remained, flicking his cane in and out of the fallen leaves beside the fence. "Everything quite satisfactory now?" he inquired.

"Yes, sir, thank you," replied Amy.

"You have a very direct way of getting results," continued the other. "Might I inquire your name?"

"Byrd, sir. And this is Thayer."

"Delighted to know you both. Mind if I stroll along with you? I'm an old boy myself, Byrd. Used to be here some five years ago. My name, by the way, is Detweiler."

"Oh!" said Amy. "You're going to help coach, aren't you, sir?"

"Yes, that's what I'm here for. Are you playing?"

"No, but Thayer is. He's on the second, that is. I hope you don't think we do this sort of thing regularly, Mr. Detweiler."

"No, I suspected that it was something rather extra," replied the other drily. "Think that he will—What's his name, by the way?"

"Harmon Dreer."

"Think he will make trouble for you, Byrd?"

Amy shrugged. "Not with faculty, I guess. He wouldn't dare. He may try to get back at me some other way, though. I'm not worrying. When did you get here, sir?"

"This morning, on the eight-something. Went to a house in the village that George Robey wrote me about and found a room, and then started out for a stroll and broke in on your innocent amusement. So far I've found the old place quite interesting!" And Mr. Detweiler chuckled.

"Hope you'll like it well enough to stay a good while, sir," said Amy.

"Thanks. Hello! There's a new hall since I was here! What do you call it?"

"The last one on the left, sir? That's Billings. I think it was built about three years ago."

"Aside from that things look about as they used to," mused the other. Then he turned to Clint. "So you're playing on the second, Thayer? How are you getting on? What do you play?"

"Pretty well, sir. I play tackle. I've had a bum knee for a week or so, though."

"How's the 'varsity shaping?"

"Very well, I'd say. We expect to lick Claflin again, sir."

"Do, eh? That's good. Football at Brimfield didn't amount to a great deal when I was here, but the old school's turned out some good elevens since then. Well, I'm glad to have met you chaps. Some day when you've got nothing better to do look me up in the village. I'm at Storer's, a little white house opposite the store and post office. Awfully glad to have you. And—er—by the way, if you need evidence, Byrd, in this little matter, call on me. Very glad to testify to the best of my knowledge. Good-bye."

Mr. Detweiler swung off in the direction of the gymnasium and the two boys, continuing toward Main Hall, looked after him interestedly.

"Gee, he's built for work, isn't he?" mused Amy. "Played tackle, didn't he?"

"Yes, and he was a dandy. Bet you he will do a lot of good here, Amy."

"He seems a level-headed sort," replied Amy. "I liked the way he minded his own business back there. Lots of men would have hopped around and got excited and said, 'Boys! Boys! This will never do!' He just made up his mind that everything was all right and said 'Go to it!'"

"I'm glad he came," acknowledged Clint. "I didn't want to see Dreer get any more, Amy."

"He needed a lot more," replied Amy grimly. "Personally, I was a bit sorry he fessed up so quick. I was hoping for another whack at him!"

"You're a bloodthirsty kid," marvelled Clint.

"I am?" Amy seemed surprised. "Don't you believe it, Clint. I'm as easy-going and soft-hearted as a suckling dove, whatever that is. Only, when some low-life like Dreer says this is a rotten school I don't care for it. And when he does a trick like the one he did with poor old Penny's fiddle I want to fight. Not, though, that you could call that little affair a fight," he added regretfully. "Why, the silly chump wouldn't even guard!"

"Do you reckon he will tell Josh?" asked Clint uneasily.

"No, I don't. He wouldn't care to have Josh know about the violin business. What he will do is to put arsenic in our tea some day, I guess."

"That's all right, then," laughed Clint. "I don't drink tea."

"Or, maybe, he'll drop a bomb through the transom some dark night."

"We'll keep it closed."

"Well, if I have to teach him behaviour again I won't stop so soon," said Amy. "I'm not sure I don't wish he would try some trick with me. I—do you know, Clint, I don't think I quite like that fellow!"

"Honest? I'd never have suspected it," Clint laughed. "Say, how many cuts did you take?"

"Two. And there's going to be trouble. But it was worth it!"

There was trouble, and Amy had to visit Mr. Fernald the next day and explain, as best he could, why he had missed two recitations. Unfortunately, Amy couldn't confide to the principal the nature of the business which had interfered with his attendance at classes, and his plea of indisposition was not kindly received. Still, he got off with nothing more serious than a warning, and thought himself extremely fortunate. Clint, who had cut only one "recit," received merely a reprimand from "Horace" and an invitation to make up the lost work.

Amy confided to Penny that evening that he and Dreer had had a misunderstanding regarding the respect due from a student to his school and that Dreer had sustained a cut cheek. And Penny nodded understandingly and said: "Much obliged, Byrd. I wish I might have seen it."

"Yes, it would have done you a lot of good," replied Amy cheerfully.



CHAPTER XVIII

A RAID ON THE SECOND

"Boots" gave Clint a fair chance to win back his place as first string right tackle. Every day he was used for half the scrimmage and Robbins for the other half. Robbins worked desperately, but by Friday Clint had proved his superiority, though perhaps by no great margin, and Robbins became second choice again. Scrimmaging with the 'varsity was no mere child's play now. With only three games intervening before the Claflin contest, the 'varsity coaches were allowing no grass to grow underfoot. Mr. Robey was now assisted by Mr. Detweiler and, at least five afternoons a week, some other old player. Andy Miller, who had captained last year's team and led it to a 6-0 victory, arrived about this time and took hold of the backs with good effect. Miller remained a few days at a time and continued his visits right up to the final game. With him occasionally came Hatherton Williams, last year's right tackle. Williams, since Detweiler had the tackles in hand, confided his coaching to Harris, Rollins and Freer and laboured hard and earnestly in an effort to improve their drop-kicking. Harris was fairly good at it, but Rollins was pretty poor and Freer was a veritable tyro. Other fellows appeared now and then and tried to be of assistance, but it is doubtful if they accomplished much good.

St. Clair had ousted Still permanently, it appeared, although Still was by no means discouraged. Perhaps he had no time to be, for the substitutes were worked quite as hard as the first string fellows. Coach Robey had no intention of being beaten for the want of capable substitutes. There were several very pretty contests in progress for coveted positions. Churchill and Blaisdell were fighting hard for the left guard honour, with Blaisdell in the lead, and Trow and Tyler were nip and tuck for right tackle. The rival quarter-backs could scarcely be said to be contesting for the position, for it was a foregone conclusion that each would be used in the Claflin game. Marvin was a very steady, dependable player on defence, handled punts and ran them back in better style than Carmine and was never erratic. Carmine, however, though weak in catching and likely to fumble at inopportune moments, had the faculty of getting more speed out of the team and inspiring it to greater effort. Both were good generals and each would be called on for what he could best perform. Harris was sure of his place at full-back, and the ends, Edwards and Roberts, were unchallenged. Jack Innes was a fixture at centre and Hall, although he had played in hard luck this Fall, was far superior to Gafferty, the second-string man. At left tackle Saunders held his place without question.

So things stood on the Saturday when the 'varsity, with a long string of substitutes, journeyed off to play Phillips School. Fully half the school went, too, and "rooted" hard for a victory. Phillips had been cleanly beaten last year, 12-0, and there was no reason to doubt that today's contest would be any harder for Brimfield. At least, there was no reason that Brimfield knew of. But for once coaches and team were caught napping and Phillips proved a difficult problem to solve. In the end Brimfield trotted off—perhaps limped off would be closer to the truth—with Phillips' scalp, but the score was 16-14, which indicates how closely defeat had hovered over the visitors. Only an almost miraculous field-goal by Rollins, who had taken Harris' place at full-back, in the third period, had saved Brimfield from disaster.

Brimfield had won two touchdowns, both in the first half of the game, by the hardest sort of plugging. Every bit of generalship that Marvin knew had been called on and every ounce of strength that the team was capable of exerting had been necessary. Jack Innes had kicked the first goal without difficulty from a rather bad angle and then had missed the second, also without difficulty, from directly in front of the posts. Meanwhile Phillips had scored once, getting the ball over on a smash through right tackle from the seven yards, and had followed with a goal. In the third period the home team had had things very much her own way, for, although it had not managed to add to its score, it had held Brimfield safe. The fourth quarter was also Phillips' up until the last few minutes. A series of forward passes had carried Phillips from her own forty yards to Brimfield's twenty, and from there two trick plays had taken her to the twelve. Three line attacks had netted only six and Brimfield's supports were sighing their relief when Phillips' apparent attempt at a field-goal turned into a forward pass that landed safely in the arms of a Phillips end and behind the line. Again Phillips kicked goal, and, with some seven minutes to play, the score stood Phillips 14, Brimfield 13, and it only remained for the home team to keep the visitor away from her goal to hold the game. It was then, however, that Brimfield had given another exhibition of her fighting spirit. Carmine was put back at quarter, Rollins went in for Harris, and Thursby took Captain Innes's place at centre. Carmine took many chances. There were several lateral passes which made gains, two forward heaves that in some unaccountable manner landed right, a number of end runs that helped, and a desperate attack at the Phillips centre between these. And, almost before anyone realised how things were going, Brimfield was besieging the Phillips goal. She lost the ball on the twenty-six yards, recovered it again on the forty-eight when Phillips punted short, pulled off a double pass that sent Still spinning around left tackle for twelve yards, hurled Rollins through centre for four more, sent a forward pass to Edwards and was back again on the twenty-yard line. Phillips played heroically. All her best defensive talent was back in line and she met every onslaught with courage and skill. But Brimfield was not to be denied, it seemed. Roberts was hurt and gave way to Holt at right end. Saunders, who had been limping for some time, was taken out after a pile-up and Tyler took his place. Freer was sent in for Wendell, although the latter was still going strong. Freer brought instructions from Coach Robey, perhaps, for there was a lot of whispering when he reached the scene.

With the pigskin almost on Phillips' fifteen yards and only a minute or two remaining it was up to Brimfield to pull off a score and do it quickly. It was third down, with six to go, and Phillips was holding better every minute. Rollins was sent back as if to drop-kick, but the ball went to Freer and Freer banged his way into the opposing line for a scant two yards. Churchill was hurt in that play and Blaisdell went back again at left guard. Again the ball was passed to Rollins, and, standing on the twenty-five yards and well to the left of the nearer post, he dropped it over for as pretty a field-goal as had ever been seen by the spectators. In such manner did Brimfield wrest victory from defeat, and the maroon-and-grey banners waved exultantly. But the victory had cost dearly, as was discovered when the casualties were counted. Saunders was badly hurt, so badly that he was definitely out of the game for a fortnight at the least; Roberts had injured his knee and would be of no use for several days; and Churchill had sustained a pulled tendon in his ankle. The two latter injuries were of minor importance, for Blaisdell could fill Churchill's shoes for a week or so and Roberts would doubtless be all right again for the Southby contest. But the damage to Saunders meant more. Saunders was a good tackle—Detweiler declared emphatically that he was the only good one in sight—and it wasn't easy to find a fellow for his position. Tyler was the logical choice, and Tyler went in, but the remaining aspirant, Crewe, was scarcely 'varsity material, and in case of injury to Trow or Tyler the outlook would be bad. Joe Detweiler pointed this fact out to Mr. Robey on the following Monday, after watching Crewe's efforts.

"We can't count on Saunders coming back before the Cherry Valley game, if he does then," said Mr. Detweiler. "Tyler's only fair and Trow is not much better. As for Crewe, he won't make a good tackle before next year. He doesn't sense it at all. We've got to find someone else, George. What about the second? Haven't they got someone there we can grab and hammer into a tackle? What about that fellow Thayer? Isn't that his name?"

"Thayer's promising," replied Mr. Robey. "Then there's Cupples. Cupples has played longer. Thayer's new this Fall. Look them over, Joe, and help yourself. Only 'Boots' will probably scalp you!"

"I've got a tough scalp," was the untroubled reply. "Anyway, we've got to have at least one good tackle. Great Scott, George, you don't seem to realise what we're up against. Why, Phillips went into Trow and Tyler Saturday as if they were paper! They're old-style tackles, both of them. No one's ever told them that the game has changed since the day when tackles were just linemen! Here, I'm going over there and see what 'Boots' has got in his outfit."

There was no scrimmage with the 'varsity that afternoon, and Mr. Boutelle was putting his second team through a hard practice when Joe Detweiler appeared on the second's gridiron. "Boots" viewed his advent with suspicion and joined him with a belligerent expression on his face.

"What are you doing over here, you spy?" he demanded. "Trying to get our signals!"

"No, just looking," replied the other innocently.

"Looking at my tackles, maybe, eh! You tell George he can't have any of them. How the dickens does he suppose I'm going to make a team if he keeps pulling a man out every little while?"

"That what he's been doing!" asked Detweiler sympathetically, his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed speculatively on the squad that was dashing past. "That's Thayer on this end, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," agreed "Boots" reluctantly. "Suppose you'd like him, wouldn't you?"

"Well, you know the fix we're in over there, old man. Saunders is out of it for a fortnight and Trow and Tyler haven't any ginger at all. We might give him back to you next week, you know."

"Oh, yes, I know! You're likely to! What I'll get will be that fellow Crewe. I don't want him, understand? I wouldn't have him on my team. Look here, if you only want a tackle for a week or so, why don't you take Robbins? He's a good man, Robbins."

"Is he? Which is Robbins?" Mr. Boutelle pointed him out. Detweiler shook his head.

"Too straggly, 'Boots.' Try again. Either Cupples or Thayer, I guess it will have to be. Sorry, you know."

"Oh, yes, you're plumb broken-hearted, aren't you?" asked "Boots" with bitter sarcasm. As a relief to his feelings, he shouted pungent criticism at Quarter-back Hinton. "Well," he said finally, "which do you want and when do you want him?"

"I guess we'll take Thayer," was the answer, "Tell him to report tomorrow, will you? Much obliged, old man."

"You're not welcome, confound you! Now get out of here! And tell George this is the last player he gets from me this Fall!"

Detweiler departed, grinning, and "Boots" returned, grumbling, to his charges and was so cross-grained for the rest of the practice that the team wondered. Later, in the gymnasium, "Boots" approached Clint.

"Thayer, they want you on the 'varsity," he announced shortly. "Report to Coach Robey tomorrow. And for goodness' sake show them that we know football over here. You'll do well enough to hold your job over there, I guess, if you'll just remember a few of the things I've tried to hammer into you. If you don't you'll be dumped back on my hands again, and I don't want you. I warn you right now that if you come back to me this season you'll go on the bench. I won't have any castaways from the 'varsity working for me!"

"Yes, sir; thank you, Mr. Boutelle. I'll try my best, sir."

Mr. Boutelle's frowns diminished. "Well, that's all you can do, Thayer. I'm sorry to lose you, and that's a fact. And I hope you'll make good." Then he scowled again. "It means learning a new set of signals, confound them!"

He went off, still grumbling, leaving Clint, attired principally in a towel, a prey to very varied emotions.



Chapter XIX

Mr. Detweiler Instructs

"It isn't that I'm not tickled to death about getting on the 'varsity," explained Clint to Amy later, "but I'm mighty sorry to leave the second. You see, a fellow gets sort of fond of the team."

"Fond!" jeered Amy. "You're positively foolish! It's a wonder you wouldn't go into mourning!"

"And then, too," continued Clint, analysing his emotions for his own satisfaction more than for Amy's benefit, "I'm scared. Suppose I don't do well enough for them on the 'varsity, Amy. I'd feel pretty cheap if they dropped me after a day or two, wouldn't I? 'Boots' swears he won't have anything to do with me if I come back. I—sort of wish Robey had chosen Cupples or Robbins. I really do!"

"Cheer up!" said Amy. "Faint heart ne'er won the 'varsity! I'll bet you'll make 'em open their eyes, Clint, when you get there. One trouble with you is that you're too modest. You need to have more—more faith in yourself, old top. And don't take 'Boots' too seriously, either. If you decide to return to his aggregation of world-beaters you'll find he'll do a heap of scolding and then fall on your neck. But you won't do anything of the sort. I'm no football connoisseur, whatever that is, but I have a feeling, Clint, that you can play all around Trow and Tyler. Besides, after Joe Detweiler gets hold of you he'll do wonders for you. Joking aside, Clint, I'm awfully pleased. It's great! And—and it's so mighty unexpected, too! That's what gets me! Of course, I've always known you were bound to become famous some day, but I didn't suppose it was going to happen so soon!"

"I didn't suppose it was going to happen at all," replied Clint rather ruefully.

"And it's going to be fine for me, too," continued Amy with gusto. "Think what it will mean to be the chum of a regular 'Greek'! 'Hats off, fellows! Here comes Mr. Byrd! Good morning, Mr. Byrd. We trust we see you well today? And how is Mr. Thayer? We hope that his knee has quite recovered from its recent indisposition!'"