"Sorry. Some other time will be just as good."

Campbell spoke in an off-hand manner, but his words did not express the thoughts in his mind.

It was the faithful Bassett who finally went home with Campbell and accompanied him to the theater in Greensboro. At dinner Bassett put in a few words of praise for Tracey and phrased them in such a way that without telling any actual falsehoods he gave the impression that the game with Dale had been an important one and that Tracey had been chiefly responsible for saving Ridgley from defeat.

Tracey took the compliments gracefully and even denied that he had done quite as much as Bassett asserted.

"You mustn't be too modest, Tracey," declared Mrs. Campbell in her shrill voice. "Take the credit that's due you. I suppose this means you've won the letter that you talk so much about."

"You know about as much football as a porcupine, Ma!" exclaimed Tracey. "A fellow has to play in the Jefferson game to get his R."

"Well I'm glad you've proved that you've got the goods," declared Campbell, senior. "If you do as well in the big game I might be favorable toward giving you that racy runabout you've been nagging me to buy you."



CHAPTER VI

DISCOVERIES

That third week in November at Ridgley School was like the home stretch in a mile race. The finish was in sight and the victory could be lost or won by what was about to take place. The Ridgley team was trailing—every one admitted that—but by a magnificent burst of speed it might yet come abreast of its rival—and might even snatch the victory. Nothing is impossible; we can do it if we have the spirit: that was the word on every one's lips—spirit not alone in the team but in the heart of every son of Ridgley,—such a spirit through the whole school that those eleven fellows in whom rested the entire hope of several hundred should go on the field with the conviction that however well the Jefferson team played, the Ridgley team would play better.

There were mass meetings at which Coach Murray and Neil Durant and prominent members of the team spoke. All of them made the point that victory depended on the spirit of the whole school as well as on the team. At the meeting on Monday night in Lincoln Hall after Neil Durant had spoken, some one in the crowd yelled, "We want Teeny-bits," and the cry was instantly taken up by others until in the space of a few seconds the whole hall was resounding to the concerted clamor for the smallest and the newest member of the eleven.

There was some little delay, for Teeny-bits, surprised and dismayed, had settled himself lower in his seat, hoping thereby to escape detection until a demand had started for some other member of the team. But the Ridgleyites who were sitting beside him yelled, "Here he is!" and Neil Durant, perceiving him at last, leaped down from the platform and laid hold on him with vigorous hands. In a second or two Teeny-bits was standing up there facing the school with such a shout of greeting ringing in his ears that his head swam a little. There was no room for the slightest doubt that the sons of Ridgley liked this quiet, unassuming, new member of the school and that they admired his manner of saying little but doing much. The school would have excused Teeny-bits if he had stammered a bit and sat down to cover his embarrassment, but there was no need for excuses of any sort. Teeny-bits suddenly found that he had something to say and he said it in a manner that brought the already enthusiastic crowd to its feet.

"I want to tell you," he said, "that I'm glad Jefferson has such a good team; every one says it's the best their school has ever produced. That's something worthy to strive for—to beat their best ever—and I know that every member of our team has his mind and heart and soul made up to meet Jefferson more than halfway and to fight so hard for Ridgley that when the game is over there'll be shouting and bonfires on our hill."

That was all Teeny-bits said but he spoke with a manner that almost brought tears to the eyes of those loyal sons of Ridgley whose faces were turned up toward him where he stood in the bright lights of the platform. A hoarse shout of confidence and satisfaction shook the hall.

Instead of jumping down and returning to his seat, Teeny-bits left the platform by the back way and hurried out of the building by the rear door. He wanted to be alone just then. The November night air was cool on his flushed face and he strode swiftly toward his room, thinking of all the things that had happened to him in the few short weeks since he had come to Ridgley and of all the friends he had made. Never had he seen the campus so deserted; every one was at the mass meeting, it seemed. There were lights only in the entries of the dormitories. He took a short cut across the tennis courts and approached Gannett Hall from the rear.

When the grayish-white bulk of the building was only twenty-five yards away, Teeny-bits heard a sudden sound that caused him to gaze upward. What he saw instantly dispelled from his mind the pleasant thoughts in which he had been absorbed. A window in the third story was open; stretching downward from it was one of the fire-escape ropes with which each room was equipped. Some one was letting himself downward by sitting in the patent sling and allowing the rope to slide slowly through his hands. Teeny-bits stepped behind one of the beech trees that grew close to the building. While he watched, the person on the rope came down even with the second story. There he paused, resting his feet on the ledge of a window. In a moment he had raised the sash and had climbed inside.

Teeny-bits remained behind the tree, peering upward and wondering if he had hit upon the solution of the mystery of the petty thefts. Inside the room on the second floor a dim light shone for a moment and then went out; the thief was using a flashlamp. Teeny-bits' first thought was to notify some one in authority, but he quickly made up his mind that he would do better to observe developments and to stay on watch until the thief should come out.

Close to the wall of the building grew some shrubs which seemed to offer a better vantage point from which to watch. Teeny-bits stepped quickly among them and crouched down so that, as seen from above, the dark shadow of his body would seem to be part of the shrubbery. Looking upward he could see any object on the side of the building outlined clearly against the starlit sky. Two or three minutes after he reached this new place of concealment a foot was thrust out of the second story window above him; some one climbed out and after closing the window began to clamber swiftly upward, using his hands on the rope and his feet against the wall.

Teeny-bits at once recognized the person who was performing this suspicious-appearing bit of acrobatics but he was astounded by his discovery. The person who was fast making his way upward, who even now had reached the third story and was climbing into the open window, was none other than Snubby Turner, the genial and innocent-appearing quarter-back of the scrub team. In the first place it was almost unbelievable that Snubby with his tremendous interest in the approaching football game should be absent from the mass meeting; in the second place it seemed even more incredible to Teeny-bits that this friend of his should be guilty of stealing the property of his schoolmates.

The newcomer at Ridgley remained standing in the bushes as if frozen to the spot. He was revolving in his mind many things: Snubby's seemingly frank and happy manner, the fact that it was he who had first reported a loss, his interest in the subsequent thefts. It seemed impossible; and yet here was indisputable evidence that Snubby had chosen a moment when the dormitory was deserted to break into one of the rooms.

Whose room was it, anyway? Teeny-bits, still looking upward, suddenly realized that the room into which Snubby had broken was Tracey Campbell's; confusing thoughts were still sweeping through his mind when he became aware that some one who was stepping swiftly along the walk that passed close behind the hall was almost upon him. Teeny-bits never knew just why he followed the sudden impulse that came over him. His first thought was that he did not want any one to see him standing there in the shrubbery apparently without reason; he started to crouch, but his quick movement caught the eye of the person who was passing. The footfalls came to a sudden pause, and a voice, which Teeny-bits recognized as that of Mr. Stevens, the English master, called out:

"Who's that?"

With a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, Teeny-bits stepped out of the bushes and said:

"It's Findley Holbrook—" and then, as if for good measure, he added his nickname—"Teeny-bits."

"What's up?" asked Mr. Stevens.

The question was put pleasantly, but Teeny-bits knew that behind it there must be wonder and suspicion—yes, surely suspicion—for it was not an ordinary circumstance to find a member of the school concealing himself close to the rear windows of one of the dormitories when all the rest of the school was absent at a mass meeting. For the life of him Teeny-bits could think of nothing to say—he had made up his mind instantly not to tell what he had seen—and there did not seem to be anything else left. For seconds that seemed like hours he did not answer Mr. Stevens' question and then he managed to get a few words across his benumbed lips.

"It's nothing," he said. "I just—I'm—I was coming back from the mass meeting."

Mr. Stevens looked at him keenly and laid a hand on his shoulder. "What's the matter, Teeny-bits?" he asked, and the newcomer at Ridgley knew from the very fact that the master addressed him by his nickname that he expected a straightforward answer.

Teeny-bits looked at Mr. Stevens in dumb misery and said nothing.

"Can I help you?" asked Mr. Stevens.

"No," said Teeny-bits. "Thanks, but I'm just going up to my room; that's all."

They walked round to the front of the hall together; Mr. Stevens said nothing more, and Teeny-bits ran up to his room and sat down to think. A few minutes before the impending struggle with Jefferson had filled his mind so completely that there seemed to be room for nothing else; now suddenly this other thing had come upon him and in an instant had engulfed his mind. Circumstances had involved him in a situation from which he would have given a year of his life to escape. He suddenly realized that he valued his good name above everything else.

Doctor Wells had been away from Ridgley over the week-end, to make an address in Philadelphia. He came back to the school Monday afternoon and did not get an opportunity to attend to his mail until evening. One letter that came to him contained a brief but surprising message. He read it once and then again, and forgot the rest of his mail. He got up from his desk chair and walking over to the window looked out into the night. Voices came to him faintly,—the eager, confident, carefree voices of youth. He knew that the boys were returning from the mass meeting. He turned away from the window, drew down the shade and read again the brief message.

It never took Doctor Wells long to make a decision; the course of action he determined on now he quickly put into execution. He reached for the telephone and in a moment was talking with Mr. Stevens, whose room was situated in Gannett Hall.

"Mr. Stevens," he said, "I want you to go up to Holbrook's room and ask him to come over here immediately. I'd like to have you stay with him until he starts."

Teeny-bits was not greatly surprised when Mr. Stevens came into his room a quarter of an hour after he had said good night to him. When any one was in trouble Mr. Stevens had a way of dropping round to see how he could help. Teeny-bits was surprised, however, when the English master delivered Doctor Wells' message. The first thought that came into his mind was that Mr. Stevens had reported what he had seen and that Doctor Wells was calling him to his office to request an explanation. Mr. Stevens may have read his thought for he looked at Teeny-bits rather searchingly and said:

"I don't know why Doctor Wells wants to see you; I haven't talked with him since he returned except to answer the request that has just been made. If you need me in any way, let me know."

That was the second time the English master had offered himself.

"I guess there isn't anything you can do," said Teeny-bits as he picked up his hat and started out of the room. "I'll run over to the office and see what Doctor Wells wants."

Teeny-bits' heart was pounding a little as he mounted the granite steps of "The White House", as every one called Doctor Wells' home. It was always an impressive thing to make a call on Doctor Wells—and one calculated to make the blood run a little faster, whatever the errand. There was something about this summons, moreover, that gave it an unusual quality, and to Teeny-bits, who had passed through two experiences that evening, it seemed to be a climax that held for him vague and perhaps unpleasant possibilities. He rang the bell and was ushered immediately into Doctor Wells' study where the soft lamplight, the paintings on the walls and the garnet-colored rugs, which harmonized with the mahogany furniture, gave an atmosphere of dignity and refinement. One always carried himself with a certain feeling of awe—at least every member of the school did—in Doctor Wells' office. But there was no unpleasant formality in Doctor Wells' manner. He shook hands with Teeny-bits cordially, asked him to sit down and came to the point immediately.

"I received a letter in the mail to-day which has something to do with you, Holbrook. I thought you'd better see it immediately. It isn't a pleasant subject and I want you to tell me frankly what you know about it."

He handed over a sheet of paper on which were three or four lines of typewritten words. They were simple enough in their meaning, but Teeny-bits had to read them twice before he completely grasped their import. There were two sentences:

Holbrook has the things that were stolen from the dormitories. He keeps them hidden under the floor in his closet.

Teeny-bits' face became red with anger and mortification; he looked Doctor Wells squarely in the eyes and said:

"Whoever sent you this, sir, wrote a lie! He didn't dare to sign his name!"

Doctor Wells never took his eyes from Teeny-bits' face, but the expression in them underwent a slight change; it was as if he had been looking for something that he greatly wanted to see—and suddenly had seen it.

"I believe in you, Holbrook," he said. "And I want you to know that I sympathize with you as I would with any one else against whose honesty a cowardly assault has been made. One has to defend himself sturdily against such underhand attacks. Have you any enemies who might try to injure you in this way?"

"I don't know; I shouldn't think that any one in this school would be mean enough to do it. Doctor Wells, I want you to come over to my room now, and let me prove that it's a lie."

"I'll be glad to," said the Head, "but we might as well wait a few minutes until the lights-out bell rings. We don't need to advertise our business to any of the fellows in Gannett Hall."

For fifteen minutes Teeny-bits sat in the study with Doctor Wells; he never remembered in detail what they talked about, but he had a vague memory that it concerned football and the game with Jefferson.

Gannett Hall was dark and quiet when the Head and the newcomer to the school stole softly up the stairs and stopped at Number 34 on the third floor. Teeny-bits unlocked the door, reached in to switch on the electric lights and stood aside to let Doctor Wells enter first. He followed and led the way directly to the closet where he kept his clothes. Swinging open the door he looked down.

At first glance it seemed that the boards were not in any way disturbed from their normal appearance, and Teeny-bits was about to speak when his eyes fell on a groove at the point where the ends of two boards came together. He had not for an instant supposed that he and Doctor Wells would discover anything in the closet, but now suddenly a great fear came over him.

"There's a mark on this board," he said, getting down closer, "and the nails have been pulled out."

A minute or two later Teeny-bits and Doctor Wells had pried up the loose boards with a heavy paper-knife from Teeny-bits' table and were gazing down at a small pile of loot which consisted of the objects that various members of the school had reported as lost. It included Fred Harper's silver sailing trophy, Ned Stillson's gold knife, Snubby Turner's watch and ten or a dozen other trinkets. Teeny-bits felt stunned. Doctor Wells had picked out the articles one after another before Teeny-bits found his voice. Then he said:

"I don't know what you think, Doctor Wells, but the honest truth is that I didn't know a thing about this. I can't even guess—"

He could say no more; his voice broke a little and he felt as if he were half a dozen years younger and about to cry in little-boy manner.

"Teeny-bits," said Doctor Wells—it was the second time that night that Findley Holbrook had been thus addressed by a person in authority at Ridgley—"I've said once that I believe in you; this doesn't shake my confidence in your honesty. I'll take charge of these things; I think you'd better go to bed now and let me see what I can do to solve the problem. I'll borrow this empty laundry bag."

After Doctor Wells had gone, Teeny-bits undressed and got into bed, but for hours he did not fall asleep. He kept thinking of Snubby Turner climbing down the fire escape. Could it be possible that the genial Snubby was guilty of stealing from his friends, of professing to have lost property himself and finally of attempting to throw the blame on another? It seemed unbelievable. But why had Snubby stayed away from the mass meeting except to break into the rooms of his classmates? It was all too confusing. Teeny-bits could evolve no satisfactory explanation. At two or three in the morning he fell into a troubled sleep during which he dreamed that he was playing in the Jefferson game and that the stands were yelling in a tremendous chorus:

"He's a thief; he's a thief!"



CHAPTER VII

ON THE EVE OF THE STRUGGLE

On the morning after the discovery of the loot hidden under the floor of the closet at 34 Gannett Hall Teeny-bits awoke with the feeling that he had been experiencing a nightmare in which disaster and unhappiness had fastened a death-like clutch upon him. It scarcely seemed possible that those events with which the evening had been crowded were real.

The speech at the mass meeting, the discovery of Snubby Turner sliding down the side of the fire rope and breaking into Campbell's room, the incident with Mr. Stevens, the summons to Doctor Wells' office, the visit to Gannett Hall and the astounding secret that revealed itself when the boards of the closet were lifted,—all those events seemed like strange imaginings. Teeny-bits jumped from bed and opened the door of the closet. The little marks that he and Doctor Wells had made with the paper-knife were sufficient evidence to bring back the reality of each incident and to plunge Teeny-bits into a gloomy perplexity from which not even the crisp brightness of the November day or the prospect of the Jefferson game could divert his mind.

The worst of it was that there seemed to be nothing that he could do except await developments; he thought of going to Snubby Turner and demanding an explanation of the part that Snubby had played in breaking into Tracey Campbell's room, but he could not bring himself to make what would be nothing less than a serious accusation of his friend. He determined to wait.

Throughout the day it seemed to Teeny-bits that he was leading two lives,—the one absorbed in the personal problem that had been thrust upon him, the other concerned with the mechanical performance of the various duties that came his way. He attended classes, ate his meals and took part in the regular football practice, but his mind was elsewhere.

Coach Murray was the first to notice that everything was not quite right. When the practice was two thirds over he spoke to Teeny-bits.

"Aren't you feeling fit?" he asked.

"I'm all right," replied the half-back.

"I'm afraid you've been working a little too hard," said the coach. "We'll call that enough for you to-day."

Doctor Wells had a habit of conferring with Mr. Stevens in matters that concerned his personal relationship with the members of the school. He had a great respect for the English master's understanding of character. On Tuesday morning he summoned Mr. Stevens to his office and put a blunt question.

"What do you think of Holbrook—Teeny-bits, as they call him?"

"Why, I've always liked him," said Mr. Stevens.

"Are you quite sure of him?"

For an instant Mr. Stevens did not answer, and then he said quickly: "Yes, I——, oh, I'm sure he's all right. In fact, I've considered him as the same type—though, of course, with a different background—as Neil Durant; and you know what I think of Neil."

If Doctor Wells had noticed the slight pause which preceded the English master's reply, he gave no sign. "I agree with you," he declared. "But I want to tell you about a puzzling incident that happened last night."

Briefly, but omitting no important detail, Doctor Wells told Mr. Stevens of the unsigned letter that accused Teeny-bits, of his conference with the newcomer and of the visit to Gannett Hall. When the Head described the discovery of the stolen property beneath the floor of Teeny-bits' closet, the expression on Mr. Stevens' face changed.

"You actually found those things in his room!" exclaimed the English master. He was sitting in the same chair in which Teeny-bits had sat just twelve hours before.

Doctor Wells, sitting opposite, smiled slightly at the surprise in Mr. Stevens' voice; he had heard just such a quality of surprise mingled with indignation in the voice of Teeny-bits.

"It astonishes you as much as it did me," said the Head. "What do you think of it?"

Mr. Stevens sat and looked into the fire and did not answer the question. The room became so quiet that the clock on the mantel seemed to raise its voice,—as if suddenly it had become animate and wished to make itself heard. It ticked out a full minute and sixty seconds more and then—as it were—became silent, for the voice of the English master drowned it out.

"That put a real problem up to me," he said. "I didn't know at first what to do, but I think I see clearly now. Something happened last night—something I couldn't quite explain; I've been puzzling over it. Unless I were sure—well sure that you know just what weight to give to outward appearances, I shouldn't tell you this; everything considered, however, I think you ought to know it. The incident happened last night only a few minutes before you asked me to send Holbrook over to you."

While Doctor Wells listened with an intentness that was revealed by the lines of his contracted brows, Mr. Stevens described how he had found Teeny-bits crouching in the shrubbery behind Gannett Hall and mentioned the newcomer's confusion at being discovered.

"I've always believed that character inevitably expresses itself in a person's face," said Doctor Wells, "and I have come gradually into the conviction that I can read faces. I thought I had made no mistake in this case—and I think so still. But they say there are exceptions to the general rule. I don't know—well, for the present, the only thing to do is to wait. Time is a great revealer of secrets."

On Wednesday and Thursday the Ridgley football team went through light signal practice which was intended, as Coach Murray said, to "oil the machinery" and "polish off the rough spots." Thursday afternoon the whole school marched down to the field to watch the practice and to test their cheering and their songs.

At dark when the team was in the locker building Coach Murray announced that there would be no practice on Friday. "I want you to forget football from now until Saturday," he said. "Imagine that no such game ever existed. To-morrow, go on a little walk somewhere or take it easy in any way you like, but don't bother your brains with any football thinking."

On Friday afternoon Tracey Campbell, at the suggestion of Bassett, decided to "forget football" by taking a little tour in his father's automobile. Tracey telephoned home, discovered that the elder Campbell was out of town, and had little difficulty in persuading his mother to send the chauffeur over to Ridgley with the car. Tracey suggested that he might take along one or two members of the football team, but Bassett made a remark or two that caused the substitute back to change his mind. After driving to the "mansion" and leaving the chauffeur, Tracey and Bassett rode out into the country and came back by the way of Greensboro. Their conversation had been none too pleasant, for there were certain things between them that furnished grounds for differences of opinion. But Bassett was clever—more clever than most of the members of Ridgley School believed him to be—and he had a way of putting his finger on weak spots and causing irritation that resulted in action. As on two previous occasions, the pair stopped at Chuan Kai's Oriental Eating Palace, and there Bassett gave voice to what he considered as a finality.

"Well," he said, "if Teeny-bits weren't on hand for the game, of course you'd play in his place, as you deserve to, and then you'd get your letter and the runabout."

"Well, he'll be there, so don't worry yourself about that," said Campbell. "He's on the inside and nothing you can do—got a match? I'm going to smoke."

"Didn't you tell me one time that Chuan Kai had a regular den upstairs where no one ever went—except the Chinks?"

"I guess so," said Tracey.

"The trouble with you," was Bassett's next remark, "is that you can't see a real chance when it's right in front of your nose. Now listen, and I'll tell you something."

The result of the conversation that went on between Bassett and Campbell during the next quarter of an hour was that Campbell finally got up from the table and said:

"We'll talk to Chuan Kai."

As an outcome of what passed between the two members of Ridgley School and Chuan Kai, an agreement was made which involved the payment of a certain amount of money. Chuan Kai counted the bills and slipped them out of sight within the folds of his loose-fitting coat. He had more than one reason for undertaking to help these two young members of the white race; they had money which moved from their pockets to his pockets and they had promised him more; the owner of the building in which Chuan Kai had established the business of the Oriental Eating Palace was Campbell, the leather dealer. Third reason, and greatest in the Chinese mind, was the fact that years ago, but not so long but that the memory of it was as vivid as a lightning flash on a black night, Campbell—who had not been above turning his hand to various undertakings that, though murky of purpose, were productive in returns—had circumvented certain laws that prevented a yellow man from gaining entrance to the land of the Americans. The father of this youth held Chuan Kai in the hollow of his hand, and Chuan Kai knew that a few words spoken to the enforcers-of-law would send him away from these shores, where living came so easily, back to China where stalked a specter which he had reason to fear with the fear of one whose heart trembles like the heart of a field mouse that hears the cry of the long-taloned owl. Those reasons trooped through the Oriental's mind as his black eyes shifted from the face of Campbell to the face of Bassett.

"You understand," said Bassett. "It's an initiation for one of our school societies and it must be always a secret—never tell any one we had anything to do with it. You understand?"

Yes, Chuan Kai understood; he knew English and he knew well enough what societies were; this he imagined was a "play" society, the kind with which young Americans amused themselves, quite unlike some societies he knew about.

Chuan Kai called out suddenly two words that sounded to Bassett and Campbell like "Ka-wah changsee", and within twenty seconds one of the Chinese waiters stood in the doorway with an expectant look in his eyes. More words of Chinese like pebbles rattling over stones and falling into water flowed from the singsong lips of Chuan Kai. The waiter went away and came back with a broad-shouldered Chinaman whose sleeves were rolled up, revealing sinewy yellow muscles. Campbell and Bassett guessed that he came from the kitchen where he had been cutting meat, for his hands were red and the apron he wore was stained. Chuan Kai spoke to these two hench-men at some length; they replied in guttural syllables that signified understanding.

A little after dark, on that same Friday evening, Teeny-bits came back from supper at Lincoln Hall and went up to his room. He had taken a walk with Neil Durant and Ned Stillson and had made up his mind that he would go to bed early and keep his thoughts away from the things that were troubling him. He had started to undress and had removed his shirt and collar, when some one shouted up from below:

"Oh, Teeny-bits, you're wanted on the telephone."

Teeny-bits pulled on a sweater and went downstairs. In answer to his inquiry he heard a voice—an unnaturally gruff voice, he remembered afterwards—telling him startling news. His father, old Daniel Holbrook, had been hurt—a train had struck him at the station—Teeny-bits was wanted at home at once.

Waiting to hear no more, he hung up the receiver and without pausing to tell any one where he was going, hurried out of Gannett Hall and ran across the campus toward the hill-road that led down to the village of Hamilton a mile away. He had covered half the distance when he saw an automobile just ahead of him standing beside the road. As he approached, he noticed that, though the lights were out, the engine was running; he determined to explain the emergency and ask for a ride to the village. He never made the request, however, for as he came abreast of the car he heard a sharp whistle close beside him and was suddenly assailed by two dark figures that sprang upon him and, almost before he could struggle, bore him to the ground.

Teeny-bits had been in many a rough-and-tumble wrestling match and was able to take care of himself in competition with any ordinary opponent, even when weight was against him; he struggled desperately, but within the space of a very few seconds he realized that he was helpless. At the first onslaught something that felt like a voluminous cloth had been thrown over his head and he found himself enveloped in its folds; he tried to cry out for help, but his voice was muffled and ineffective. Though unable to see his assailants, he kicked and struck out with desperation, but all to no avail. His feet were brought together and fastened with the same material that covered his head and pinioned his arms to his body. In a moment he felt himself raised from the ground and realized that he was being lifted into the automobile. Hands fumbled at the cloth about his head, tightening the folds over his mouth and eyes, loosening the folds over his nose so that, though he could neither see nor talk, he could breathe without difficulty.

The whole attack had been carried out swiftly, and it was so entirely different from anything that Teeny-bits had experienced that he felt dazed and bewildered. The automobile was moving rapidly now, as he could tell by its tremulous motion and its frequent lurches. No sound that would aid him in identifying his assailants came to his ears, however, and he could only helplessly await the next development. A cautious tightening of his muscles convinced him quickly that it was of no use whatever to strain against his bonds. Whoever these men were who had bound him in so strange a manner, they had done their work well. Minutes passed, and still the automobile rolled on swiftly; whither it was carrying him—north or south or east or west—Teeny-bits had no way of knowing. Finally it began to move more slowly and after a few moments vibrated as if passing over cobble-stones.

Teeny-bits knew instantly when it came to a stop, for the vibrations ceased. Only a moment passed before he felt himself lifted by two pairs of hands and a moment later realized by the sound and the motion that he was being carried up a long flight of steps. He heard a door open and shut and he sniffed a strange odor; food cooking and smoke, it seemed to suggest, but strange food and strange smoke. Another flight of steps was mounted, another door was opened, and Teeny-bits felt himself deposited upon something that seemed like a mattress. He tried to speak, to ask where he was and what his captors intended, but only muffled mumblings came from his lips. He heard the door close and knew that he was alone. A feeling of despair, the equal of which he had never experienced, swept over him; he was in the power of nameless enemies whose purposes were unknown and perhaps sinister.

For a long while Teeny-bits lay in dumb misery, while one dismal thought after another marched through his mind. On the eve of the big game—the game in which for long weeks his hopes had been fastened, first with interest and then with an almost feverish anticipation—he had been mysteriously spirited away. Now he would not even witness the great struggle between his school and its ancient rival—to say nothing of playing and winning his R. But there were other thoughts. What of his father,—old Daniel Holbrook? Teeny-bits now suspected that the telephone summons was part of a plan to entice him away from the school, but, of course, there was a possibility that an accident had occurred and that even now Daniel Holbrook was hovering between life and death, and wondering why Teeny-bits did not come to him. There was still another thought: circumstances had cast about him a cloud of suspicion which was evident to two persons whose respect he wished to retain,—Doctor Wells and Mr. Stevens. What would their feeling toward him be when they learned that he had disappeared from the school without saying a word to any one? They could arrive at only one conclusion: that he was guilty of stealing from his schoolmates and that, fearing to face the charges against him, he had run away like a coward. If the worst should happen—if he should not come out alive from the predicament in which he now found himself—his name would be remembered forever as that of one who had neither honor nor courage.

Those thoughts seemed to Teeny-bits more than he could bear, and suddenly a feeling of bitter rage welled up within him against the unknown enemy who had caused him all this misery. He could not believe that Snubby Turner had anything to do with it. The only persons in Ridgley School whom he had reason to suspect were Bassett and Tracey Campbell. He made up his mind that if he ever escaped from his present predicament he would go straight to those two members of Ridgley School and ask them point-blank if they were at the bottom of his troubles. If they could not come forth with an answer that rang true, he would give them both a thrashing that they would never forget. He would welcome a chance to meet them singly or as a pair. He began to struggle at his bonds and was soon dripping with perspiration from his efforts. After a time he saw the uselessness of it and, almost exhausted, lay breathing deeply the close atmosphere of the room.

The night before the "big game" at Ridgley School resembled the lull before a storm; word had been passed as usual that the dormitories were to be quiet and members of the school were to keep away from the rooms of the football players, who, of course, needed, on this night of all nights, a sound and long sleep. In Lincoln Hall, at meal time, there had been a hum of eager conversation: the Jefferson team had arrived in Hamilton and had gone to comfortable quarters at Grey Stone Inn, three miles from the school. They would remain at the inn until just before the game, when they would come to the field in automobiles. Several of the Ridgleyites who had been in the station at the time of the visitors' arrival reported that the Jefferson players were "huskies" and that Norris, the renowned full-back, was the biggest "of the lot." The main body of Jefferson students would arrive by special train at noon on Saturday.

Many a member of Ridgley School on this eve of the great struggle was filled with a feeling of restlessness; it seemed that the minutes were dragging with indescribable slowness, that the night would never pass and that the hour would never come when the referee would blow his whistle to start the contest upon which the Ridgley hopes and fears were centered.

Among those restless spirits who longed for some way to speed the minutes was Snubby Turner. He had gone down to the Hamilton Station and had come away not at all reassured by the sight that had met his eyes. The representatives of Jefferson School were a formidable looking lot, and it increased Snubby's peace of mind not at all to have had a close view of Norris' athletic form. He sensed a feeling of overflowing confidence in these big sons of Jefferson, and he longed to talk to some one who could dispel his doubts and drive away the insidious fears that were gnawing at what he called his "Ridgley spirit." In these circumstances he would have gone to Teeny-bits, or he might even have imposed upon the hospitality of Neil Durant,—if he had not known that loyalty to the school demanded that he should not bother any member of the eleven. He finally sought consolation by going down to the basement of Gannett Hall to pay a visit to old Jerry. He found the ancient janitor's assistant leaning back in a rickety chair reading by the light of an unshaded electric bulb. The old man put the volume down upon his knee and looked at Snubby with eyes that seemed to be gazing on distant scenes.

"What kind of book is that?" asked Snubby. "A novel?"

Old Jerry thrust his head forward slightly, as if seeing his visitor for the first time, and said:

"There's ijeers in this book, I wanter tell yer. It's about an awful smart feller who had ways of his own in gettin' at the bottom o' things—kind of a detecative chap."

Snubby looked at the title and saw that it was "The Mystery of the Million Dollar Diamond."

"It does a man good sometimes to exercise his brains on meesterious happenin's," said old Jerry, "and you know we got plenty o' reason to study up things o' that sort."

"Yes, we have; but I'm not half as much interested in that stuff just now as I am in the Jefferson game. Who do you think's going to win?"

Old Jerry laid the book carefully aside on his table, looked at his questioner seriously for a moment and said:

"I got my ijeers about that too, but it don't do no good to tell everythin' that is millin' aroun' in your head. Now I once heared of a feller who had a job forecastin' the weather for a noospaper, and he'd allus say right out positive whether it 'ud rain or shine—it was allus goin' to be bright and clear or dark and stormy—and along come a spell o' weather and every day for a week he said it was going to rain, and I'll be singed if there was a cloud in the sky all through them seven days—and the feller lost his job. Now the way I look at the game is this: we got a big chance to win and we got a big chance to lose, and if we do the things we oughter do it's goin' to be bright and fair, and if we do the things we hadn't oughter do it's goin' to be dark and stormy,—and I got my ijeers which is which. But, as I said, it don't do too much good to tell everythin' you know."

"It'll be an awful fight," said Snubby; "a terrible fight every single minute of the time, and I'll bet you two cents to a tin whistle that when that Jefferson crowd of heavy-weights gets through they'll know they've been playing somebody. I wish there were something I could do. I'm so doggone restless that I don't believe I'll sleep a wink to-night."

Old Jerry gave voice to a cackle of mirth. "Bet you'll sleep all right," he said. "I never yet seen a feller like you that didn't sleep when the time come for it, and as for helping, I guess you'll do your part if you keep on believin' that Ridgley School can't be beat and when the game is goin' on you yell your dumdest to encourage the team."

"Well," said Snubby, "I suppose you want to go on readin' that lurid-looking book of yours, so I'll be going up to my room, I guess."

"It ain't so lurid," said Jerry, "but it's interestin' 'cause it's kind o' teachin' me how to put two and two together so's they'll figger up to make four, if you know what I mean, and then I'm a mite stirred up myself about that game to-morrer and it's quietin' to my nerves."

So Snubby Turner left his friend in the little basement room, walked quietly up the stairs to his room and made up his mind that the best thing for him to do was to turn in.

Mass meetings, preliminary games and final practice were over and everything now awaited the climax of the season. By half-past nine lights were going out in the dormitories and presently quiet reigned over the white buildings on the hill and the stars, sending down their radiance from a clear sky, presaged fair weather for the great contest. The light was out in Teeny-bits' room and no one in the school—with the exception of two persons—doubted that the smallest member of the eleven was not sleeping soundly beneath the roof of Gannett Hall.

Saturday morning dawned as fair as the fairest day in the year; there was a nip in the air that suggested winter, but as the morning wore on, the mounting sun mellowed the chill until the "old boys"—men who had played for Ridgley and Jefferson twenty years before and who had come back to view once again the immortal combat between the "best school in all the world" and her greatest rival—slapped each other on the back and said:

"Perfect football weather!"

All roads led to Ridgley—or seemed to—on this day of days. The trains came rolling into the Hamilton Station, discharged their burdens of humanity and rolled on. Automobiles by the score climbed the long hill to the school,—automobiles bearing the fluttering red of Ridgley and the fluttering purple of Jefferson. There were shouts of greeting and shouts of gay challenge, honking of horns and a busy rushing here and there that suggested excitement, anticipation and hopes built high. And then came the special train from Jefferson—the Purple Express, so named—bearing hundreds of cheering students and a brass band of twenty pieces which led the procession into Lincoln Hall to the strains of the Jefferson Victory Song,—a fiendish piece of music in the ears of Ridgley's loyal sons, a stirring pean of confidence and challenge in the ears of those who waved aloft the purple. At Lincoln Hall the Jefferson guests—according to immemorial custom—sat down to a luncheon that Ridgley School provided. A year later the compliment would be returned. The band played, the visitors cheered, the song leader jumped on a table and swung his arms in time to the latest Jefferson song,—and all Ridgley School knew that Jefferson was having the time of her life. She had come to her rival with the best team in her history and she meant to enjoy every moment of a triumph which she was confident would be colossal. In all this excitement Teeny-bits' absence was not at first noticed. At breakfast some one asked for him and some one else said:

"I guess he's already eaten and gone; he probably didn't want to listen to our football gossip."

During the course of the morning two members of the faculty called for him—Doctor Wells and Mr. Stevens. They had an identical thought in mind—though neither knew that the other was thinking it. They were busy in extending the hospitality of Ridgley to the members of the Jefferson faculty and in greeting the "old boys" who had returned for the big game, but both wanted to have a word with Teeny-bits,—to tell him that they had confidence in him and that they knew everything would turn out right in the end and that they should watch him with special interest this afternoon and knew that he would forget everything else and play his best for Ridgley. They left word for him at the dormitory.

This was no ordinary game of football—Ridgley-Jefferson games never were ordinary—and this would transcend all past contests between the two schools. Jefferson was said to be irresistible; the Ridgleyites knew that the spirit of their team was irresistible, and when two "irresistible" forces come together something must give way. From Springfield, the nearest large city, came numerous copies of the Springfield Times with pictures of all the players and statistics in regard to age, weight and height. The largest amount of space was given to Norris, the Jefferson full-back, but Neil Durant came in for his share and a paragraph was devoted to Teeny-bits who was described in these words:

"The Ridgley left-half will be the lightest player on the field; he cannot be expected to do much against the heavy Jefferson line, but he has gained a reputation as a shifty runner and deserves to be watched on open plays."

At noon, when Teeny-bits did not appear for the special luncheon that was served to the members of the team in the trophy room of the gymnasium, Neil Durant and Coach Murray began to make inquiries.

"Where's Teeny-bits?"

Nobody had an answer.

"He'll probably be along pretty soon," said the coach. "He ought not to be late to-day, though."

When the luncheon was half-eaten Neil Durant got up and announced that he was going to send some one to look for the missing member of the team. He found Snubby Turner and asked him to run up to Gannett Hall and look for Teeny-bits.

When Snubby came back at the close of the meal with the report that Teeny-bits was not in his room and that nobody, as far as he could discover, had seen him all the morning, Neil Durant said:

"Maybe he went home. We'll probably find him down at the locker building."

But when the members of the team arrived at the field half an hour later in order to prepare themselves leisurely for the game, Teeny-bits had not appeared.

"That's mighty queer," Neil said to Ned Stillson. "I can't understand it. If he doesn't come we'll have to play Campbell in his place—and somehow I haven't much faith in Campbell. I'm going to call up Mr. Holbrook at the Hamilton station and find out if he knows anything about Teeny-bits."

In answer to Neil's call, Mr. Holbrook's assistant reported that Mr. Holbrook had gone home to dinner and was not coming back till late in the afternoon; he was going to the game.

"The Holbrooks haven't a 'phone in their house, have they?" asked Neil.

"No, they haven't," came the reply.

"Well, do you know where Teeny-bits is?"

"Why, up at the school, I suppose; I haven't seen him," was the answer.

It was evident that Mr. Holbrook's assistant had no information; Neil hung up the receiver and said to himself:

"Well, if his father is coming that's a good sign. When Teeny-bits shows up, I'll give him a lecture that'll make his hair stand on end."

At quarter-past one, when the Ridgley team ran out on the field for warming-up practice, Coach Murray looked over the squad and yelled sharply:

"Campbell, get out there in left-half and let me see you show some pep."

The tone of his voice was like a whiplash, and every member of the team knew that he was angry clear through.

Already the stands were beginning to fill with the friends of Ridgley and of Jefferson, though the cheering sections were as yet empty. In two long columns, stepping in time to the music of their respective bands, the Ridgleyites and the Jeffersonians were marching to the field.



CHAPTER VIII

STRANGE CAPTORS

Teeny-bits Holbrook was not the sort to give up hope quickly. When, after struggling vainly against his bonds, he had exhausted his strength and had at last lain back panting for breath, he had begun to think,—to try in some way to devise a plan that would offer hope of escape. But there seemed to be no possible loophole, no stratagem or maneuver by means of which he could win release. Inaction was galling, and, after lying still for a long time, Teeny-bits again began to struggle and twist and squirm. These bonds with which his arms and hands and feet and legs were fastened did not give way under his most violent efforts and, as previously, he exhausted himself before he had accomplished anything.

For hours Teeny-bits alternated these periods of struggling and resting. Twice he was aware that some one came into the room and went out,—evidently after watching him for a few moments. How much time had passed since his captors had pounced upon him on the hill road to Hamilton he had no means of knowing, but it seemed likely that more than half the night had gone.

In one of his struggles Teeny-bits rolled off the edge of the mattress on which he had been lying; to his surprise he did not fall with a crash some two or three feet, as he would have fallen from a bed of the usual height, but merely dropped a few inches before coming in contact with the floor. Evidently the mattress rested on springs that were laid directly on the boards. Teeny-bits rolled himself this way and that until he brought up against a wall. He was about to roll in the other direction when he realized that the folds of cloth that bound him were caught against something; from the feeling—the slight pull that was exerted against the movement of his body—he came to the conclusion that it was a nail. He wriggled a few inches length-wise along the wall, and the sound of ripping cloth came to his ears,—a sound that brought a thrill of hope. If the bonds that imprisoned him were too strong to be broken by the power of his muscles, perhaps he could tear and rip them by edging himself back and forth against the sharp projection which, judging by sound, had already effected the beginning of what he desired. By twisting and turning, he succeeded, in the course of the next five minutes, in gaining a certain amount of freedom for his arms.

When Teeny-bits had left his room in Gannett Hall to answer the telephone call he had pulled on a light sweater. Now it occurred to him that if he could catch the lower part of the sweater on the nail, he might, by working his body downward, pull the garment over his head and carry with it the stout cloth in which he was still swathed. At the cost of some skin scraped from his back, he got the nail fastened in the sweater and gradually succeeded in turning it inside out. In a minute or two he said to himself, exultantly, he would have his hands free, and then it would be quick and easy work to untie his feet.

At that moment, when escape was almost within his grasp, dreaded sounds came to his ears,—the opening of the door and the shuffle of running feet. Teeny-bits was in a hopeless position to make any resistance; the folds of tough cloth which had been wound about his body, pinioning his arms, had been pulled upward with the sweater until the whole mass was bunched across the top of his bare shoulders, and though he was able to move his arms slightly, he was still so tangled that he could do nothing except await whatever fate was in store for him. Two persons came into the room; he heard them speak sharply and knew then that they were Chinese; there was no mistaking the outlandish inflection of vowel and consonant. In a second rough hands were laid upon him and he was dragged away from the wall. He gave a few last futile wrenches and then lay still, face down, on the floor.

His captors had him at their mercy; they could do with him what they wished. One of them was pulling at the folds of cloth; Teeny-bits could feel the man's hands on his bare back. Suddenly the hands paused in their work; then the sweater was pushed an inch or two higher and there came to Teeny-bits' ears one of the strangest sounds that he had ever heard: an exclamation, a startled cry in syllables that, though wild and meaningless in themselves, conveyed an unmistakable effect,—discovery and the highest degree of astonishment. This strange cry was answered in kind by another voice, and Teeny-bits felt the two Chinese fumbling at his back with trembling fingers. To his surprise he realized, after a moment, that they were loosening the bonds, that they were freeing his arms and legs and removing the folds over his mouth and eyes.

In a few moments Teeny-bits sat up and looked about him; he had the same sensation that a person sometimes experiences on waking at night in a room away from home and finding the walls too near or too far and windows where they should not be. He had imagined himself in a wide, high, dimly lighted room with two villainous-looking desperadoes bending over him with weapons plainly displayed. He found himself in a low-ceilinged, box-like, little room lighted by a flaring gas jet, with two astonished-looking Chinese gazing at him with slant eyes that seemed to be almost popping from their heads. They were jabbering their outlandish tongue up and down the singsong scale as if here before them, sitting on the floor, were a new species of being, newly discovered and strange beyond imagination. Teeny-bits did not know what to make of them; he blinked his eyes and remained sitting there, wondering what would happen next. Both of the Chinese seemed to be asking him questions and they were pointing at him in a way that brought the thought to Teeny-bits that they were both insane. Then he suddenly realized what was the cause of their excitement—one of them came closer and pointed down at his shoulder—at the terra-cotta colored mark which had excited comment at Ridgley School because it so strikingly resembled a dagger-like knife with a tapering blade and a thin handle.

"What's the idea of all this business?" demanded Teeny-bits.

The Oriental who stood beside him bent down and touched the mark as if trying to discover if it were real. He called out something to his companion and a flow of words passed between them.

Teeny-bits stood up stiffly and began to pull on his torn sweater, while the two Chinese watched him with fascinated eyes.

"Why did you bring me here?" he demanded. "Are you crazy, or what is the matter with you?"

The two Chinese blinked at him vacantly; either they did not understand English or pretended not to. Suddenly one of them got down on his knees and began a queer song-like jabbering in which his companion joined.

Teeny-bits did not wait to listen, but began to move toward the door; he expected the men to jump in front of him and bar the way, but neither of them stirred until he was actually stepping out of the room. Teeny-bits ran stiffly down a dimly lighted flight of steps, then down another flight and out into a dark alleyway. Behind him he could hear the soft pattering of feet; the two Chinese were not far in the rear. Determined to waste no time in escaping, he dashed down the alley and came into a dark street; he ran faster and faster as the stiffness in his legs lessened, turning into one street after another, and he did not stop until he was breathing hard and had left the place of his captivity several hundred yards behind. He looked back then and listened. Apparently he had distanced pursuit, for no sounds of pattering feet came to his ears and he caught no glimpse of the two Chinese who had acted so strangely.

At any rate he was free,—though he did not know where he was; the streets down which he had been running were deserted; the houses were of brick tenement structure and stood close together. He went on at a swift walk, turning every few steps to look over his shoulder, and presently he came to a building which he recognized. It was the market that faced Stanley Square in Greensboro, a yellow brick building with a tall tower and a clock. As Teeny-bits gazed upward, trying to read the position of the hour hand in the half-light of the street lamps, the big timepiece boomed out two strokes. It was two o'clock.

Teeny-bits turned south along Walnut Street in the direction of Hamilton. When he had attended the high school in Greensboro he had gone twice each day on his bicycle over the four miles of road between the village and the bustling young city. He now set out at a swift walk, and as soon as he had passed the outskirts of Greensboro, he jogged along at a pace that kept him warm, in spite of his scanty attire and the nipping air.

Twice, while still on the city streets, he had passed belated pedestrians and once he had glimpsed a policeman under a street lamp. He had not paused, however, for his one desire was to get home and to discover if his father had been injured. It had occurred to him that perhaps he should report his experience to the police, but the thought then came to him that they might detain him,—and the one thing that he wanted now was freedom. So he went on swiftly toward Hamilton and before three o'clock was approaching the house that he had always known as home. All of the windows were dark,—a reassuring sign. If anything terrible had happened, surely there would be a light in the house.

Teeny-bits went round to the rear and tried the kitchen windows till he found that one was unlocked. Cautiously he let himself in; he did not intend to waken father and mother Holbrook unless there was evidence that something had happened. The kitchen was warm, and the cat, which always slept in a chair beside the woodbox, jumped down softly to the floor and came over to rub her body against his leg. Teeny-bits reached down and stroked the cat's soft coat; somehow, the contented purring of the creature convinced him that nothing was wrong in the house. He unlaced his shoes and tiptoed upstairs; in the hall he paused to listen; the quietness of the house was broken only by a faint but regular breathing; it came from the bedroom where old Daniel Holbrook slept. So all was right, after all.

With a great feeling of relief, Teeny-bits groped his way along the hall to the rear and opened the door to his own room. Suddenly he felt very tired and it seemed to him that he could not get into bed quickly enough. He pulled off his clothes, raised one of the windows, and in a moment had settled down upon the comfortable mattress and had pulled the covers up to his chin. He said to himself that he would sleep a little while and early in the morning hurry up to the school. A pleasant feeling of relaxation stole over him, his thoughts merged into drowsy half-dreams and almost immediately he sank into a slumber deeper than any he had experienced for many days.

He slept on and on; morning light came softly in at the curtained windows; in the front of the house his father and mother rose and went downstairs, and after a time old Daniel Holbrook went leisurely to his duties at the station. Still Teeny-bits slept his deep sleep and only the cat knew that he was in the house.

Just after twelve o'clock Daniel Holbrook came home to dinner; he stopped in the back yard for an armful of wood and entering the kitchen, dropped it in the box beside the stove. The rumble penetrated to the rooms above, and Teeny-bits sat up abruptly in bed, wide awake in a flash. This was the day of the big game; it was morning; he must hurry up to the school; he began hunting in the closet for fresh clothes and pulling them on in desperate haste. He was two thirds dressed when his door was pushed slowly open and father and mother Holbrook peered cautiously in; the look that he surprised on their faces was so ludicrous that he laughed.

"Land sakes alive, Teeny-bits!" cried Ma Holbrook. "What a tremulo you gave me. How'd you get here? Your pa and I heard you movin' around and I thought sure it was burglars!"

Teeny-bits sat on the edge of the bed and laughed and laughed,—it seemed so good to see them both alive and well; and old Daniel Holbrook, holding the dangerous-looking stick of wood that he carried up from the kitchen to use in dealing with burglars, slapped his thigh and laughed harder than Teeny-bits.

"Don't tell me you've been here all night!" he said at last.

"I came in through the kitchen window after you were asleep and I didn't want to disturb you," said Teeny-bits. "I was looking for a good sleep before the big game."

"I guess you got it all right," said Daniel Holbrook.

"What time is it?" asked Teeny-bits.

The station agent hauled out his big silver watch, looked at it critically and announced: "Twenty-nine minutes past twelve."

"Past twelve!" repeated Teeny-bits. "It can't be."

Daniel Holbrook swung round the face of the watch and proved the correctness of his statement. "Kinder late for a boy to be gettin' up," he remarked with a chuckle.

Teeny-bits had made an instant resolve that this kindly couple who were father and mother to him should not be burdened with his troubles. He jumped to his feet and cried:

"The game starts in an hour and a half; I've got to hustle up there."

"Not until you've eaten," said Ma Holbrook, firmly. "Dinner's ready this minute."

Teeny-bits did a bit of swift mental calculation; the team was already at lunch; he could not reach the gymnasium in time to be with them; it would be better to eat here and join the squad at the field.

"I don't want much," he said. "Just a little and then I'll have to go."

"I'll hitch up Jed," said Daniel Holbrook, "and we'll all ride up together; your ma and I were intendin' to start pretty soon, anyway."

Thus it happened that Teeny-bits Holbrook rode up to the game behind the sorrel horse and arrived at the locker building fifteen minutes before the contest was scheduled to begin. While the sound of the preliminary cheering and singing rang in his ears he pulled on his football togs in frantic haste, dashed out of the building and ran along behind the stands until he came to the opening that led underneath to the field itself. He appeared at the players' shelter just as Coach Murray was about to shout out the order for Neil to bring the team in off the field.

Mr. Murray's features wore an expression that was sterner than any that had been seen on his face that fall. The Ridgley team had been experiencing a species of stage fright. It seemed that Neil Durant was the only one of the back-field who could hold the ball. Campbell and Stillson and Dean had fumbled again and again, and Campbell was the worst of the three. When the coach saw Teeny-bits he closed his mouth with a click and looked the left-half back through and through with eyes that blazed; he laid rough hands on the newcomer's shoulders and said in a voice that rasped:

"Do you want to play in this game?"

As Teeny-bits had come running from the locker building and heard the volume of cheering, the fear had grown larger and larger that he was too late—that the game had started, that he had lost his chance. He felt an overwhelming eagerness and he meant every word of his answer to Coach Murray's question.

"I think I'll die if you don't let me," he said, and his face wore such a look of earnestness and appeal that the coach's grim expression relaxed a little.

"Don't stop to explain why you 're late—I hope you have a good excuse—but run out there and tell Campbell to come in."



CHAPTER IX

THE GREAT GAME

Teeny-bits raced out on the field as if he had been shot from a cannon. The greeting that the team gave him was very different from the one that they had accorded him that day a few weeks before, when he had run out to take his place as a regular after the injury to White.

"Here's Teeny-bits!" some one yelled.

A chorus of shouts greeted the half-back, and Neil Durant came running to meet him halfway.

"I ought to murder you right now," said the captain, "but I'm so glad to see you I'll wait till after the game. Gee, I'm glad you've come."

By this time half a dozen of the team were slapping Teeny-bits on the back and he had slipped into his position behind the line. Campbell had needed no word to inform him that he was relieved of his duties at left-half; he had given Teeny-bits one startled glance and had headed for the side line. Dean called out the signals while the team ran through a series of plays. "Come on now; we're all here; let's go," cried Neil, and the team responded with a snap. The Ridgley cheering section had noticed the advent of Teeny-bits and a buzz of conversation went around, for his absence during the warming-up had been the subject of increasing comment.

Down at the other end of the field the Jefferson team was running through signals and trying punts and drop kicks. Simultaneously the teams ceased their practice and gathered at the two benches at opposite sides of the field. Neil Durant, Norris and the referee then met in mid-field and flipped a coin for choice of goals. There was little advantage, for almost no wind was stirring, but Norris, who won the toss, quickly chose the south goal and a moment later the two teams ran out and took their places. Ridgley was to kick off to Jefferson.

Neil Durant helped Ned Stillson set the ball on the mound of earth and Ned drew back a few yards. A hush had settled over stands and field; down in the shadow of the south goal posts stood Norris, bending slightly forward, eager to get the ball in his arms; in front of him were his team-mates spread out to cover their half of the field. Just beyond the center was the line of Ridgley players. Suddenly these eleven players moved, the referee's whistle cut the hush, the ball went sailing down the field and shouts arose from every quarter of the stands. The moment had at last arrived; the big game was on.

Teeny-bits felt keen and fit; his long sleep had completely refreshed him. As he raced down the field one thought was in his mind: to get into the play and tackle whatever Jefferson man caught the ball. Ned Stillson had made a clever kick-off; the leather oval flew to the right of Norris and settled into the arms of one of his team-mates, who had dashed forward only ten yards when Neil Durant met him with a clean, hard tackle and brought him solidly to earth. Even such a small incident as that evoked a howl of delight from the Ridgley stands, for such was the reputation of Jefferson that there were those who fearfully expected to see the wearer of the purple dash through the whole Ridgley team and score a touchdown at the first effort. The cheer leader ordered the short Ridgley yell for the team and the stand responded with a hoarse roar. There was scarcely a son of Ridgley gazing down on the field but whose teeth were gritted together, whose breath was coming fast, and whose voice as he shouted encouragement to the team was like the voice of a man hurling defiance to a mortal enemy.

As the two teams lined up for the first scrimmage, Teeny-bits got his first close view of Norris. The famed full-back of the purple was of about Neil Durant's height, of an impressively powerful build, but not so heavy as to appear sluggish. He looked the Ridgley team over with steady, appraising eyes; his face was keen and determined,—the very look of him indicated that he was on the field for business.

The Jefferson quarter was snapping out the signals; his voice cut the medley of shouts that echoed back and forth across the field like the shrill voice of a dog barking in a tempest. Suddenly the ball moved and the first scrimmage was on. The Jefferson right half-back had the ball and the play was aimed at center; big Tom Curwood, however, was equal to the occasion; he stopped the play before the purple-clad son of Jefferson had covered a yard beyond the Ridgley line.

A second wild howl of delight went up from the Ridgley stands; those two small incidents, the quick downing of the runner after the kick-off and the stiff stand of the Ridgley line on this first play from regular formation, had brought a sudden feeling of confidence. Down there on that white-lined field the wearers of the red had begun to show that they could hold their own. But the next play—an end run by the left-half, who made seven yards and advanced the purple within two yards of first down—brought a thunderous roar from the other side of the field.

The Jefferson captain now stepped back into kicking position. The ball was snapped as if for a punt, but Norris, instead of kicking, started around the Ridgley right end. Neil Durant went over swiftly, but one of the Jefferson backs formed perfect interference and the big wearer of the purple, evading the Ridgley end and the captain went through into an open space,—and almost before the Jefferson stands had begun to shout encouragement to him had covered twenty yards.

It was Teeny-bits running diagonally across the field who finally made the tackle. To the Ridgley left-half a strange feeling had come as he saw Norris break away; it had seemed to him, for a brief instant, that anything he could do would be of no use whatever. In the next moment he found himself almost upon Norris and before he had time to think he had made a tackle that turned the despairing groans of the Ridgley supporters into a yell of relief. The great Jefferson full-back had been stopped dead by the smallest man on the field. Norris got to his feet and looked at Teeny-bits with the same expression of interest that had appeared on the faces of the Ridgley regulars weeks before when Teeny-bits had made his first appearance with the scrub.

"Some tackle!" he exclaimed, and grinned, as much as to say: "Well, well, that's pretty good for a little fellow."

In the scheme of plays as outlined before the game by Coach Murray, Ridgley when on the defensive was always to keep an eye open for Norris. Neil Durant had been told off to watch the Jefferson captain; it was his duty to shift his position always in accordance with any shift that Norris made. Of course the Ridgley ends—and every member of the team for that matter—had been drilled to be "in" on every play; upon Neil, however, had been placed the responsibility of seeing that the purple leader did not escape into an open field. But if Ridgley was watching Norris, Jefferson was watching Durant, and Neil found himself, as the game went on, more and more the target of Jefferson players who were quick to realize that Durant had been given the responsibility for stopping their captain. When Norris carried the ball, Neil, coming in swiftly to intercept him, time and again found his way blocked by a Jefferson player who flung himself across his path.

After the twenty-yard run by the Jefferson captain there was a succession of line plunges which gained first down for the purple; then came another end run by Norris which brought the ball beyond the middle of the field. Here the Ridgley team made a stand that the newspaper reporters later described as a "stone-wall defense"; after three tries Jefferson had succeeded in advancing the ball only five yards. Whipple, of the purple team, then sent a long spiral punt down the field; the leather oval flew over the head of Dean, rolled across the goal line and was brought out twenty yards to be put in play by the Ridgley team.

For the first time Ridgley had an opportunity to carry the ball, and the cheer leader, who had been gyrating frantically in front of the stands where the red color was waving, called for a cheer with three "Teams" on the end.

Dean gave the signal for Ned Stillson to carry the ball. Ned responded by dashing into a hole that big Tom Curwood made for him at center and, to the unmeasured delight of every son of Ridgley, advanced seven yards before he was brought to earth. On the next play Neil Durant slid around right end for a first down and it was now the turn of the red to wave aloft its colors. The Ridgley quarter-back then gave the signal 7, 16, 11, which indicated a double-pass play. The ball came back to Stillson who, after starting toward the right end, passed to Neil Durant who was going at a terrific pace in the opposite direction. Teeny-bits' duty was to form interference for his captain and he suddenly found himself "Indianizing" the captain of the Jefferson team. It was perfect interference and although Teeny-bits felt somewhat as if he had come in contact with a charging locomotive he experienced a thrill of utter joy as he felt the big Jefferson captain come down upon him and saw Neil Durant break through. The Ridgley captain used his straight arm on one Jefferson player, dodged another, and crossed line after line with two wearers of the purple fiercely pressing him. No Ridgley player was within reach to form interference, however, and after one of the Jefferson men had made a desperate attempt to tackle and had rolled on the ground, the other coming up swiftly brought Neil down on the thirty-yard line.

Every one on the west side of the field was standing up, and here and there hats—not always those which belonged on young heads—were being thrown into the air. More than one gray-haired man was yelling like a red Indian on the war path. A feeling of confidence that the victory would rest with Ridgley swept from one end of the stands to the other. Friends and strangers were making happy remarks to each other to the effect that this would be a glorious day for the school on the hill.

The triumphant feeling was short-lived, however, for on the next play the Jefferson left end came in swiftly and downed Ned Stillson, who was carrying the ball, for a loss of three yards.

A forward pass, Dean to Durant, gained five yards, but the next play met with a stiff defense and Neil Durant determined that the time had come to attempt a drop kick. He fell back a few yards, looked for a smooth spot upon which to drop the ball and a second later delivered the kick. The Jefferson ends had come in so fast, however, that Neil was forced to send the ball away hurriedly, and the leather flew wide of the goal posts.

While the ball was being brought out to the twenty-yard line, Norris gathered his players around him for a few seconds. What he said apparently had an immediate effect, for when the play continued, Jefferson seemed to be filled with a new spirit. From the twenty-yard line the eleven invaders advanced down the middle of the field, mostly by line rushes. At that point they tried a forward pass, and the ball, when it came to a stop, rested on the Ridgley thirty-five-yard line.

Teeny-bits was breathing hard; he had thrown himself into each play with every ounce of strength and determination at his command and more than once had helped retard the advance of the purple. Neil Durant, too, had been strong in defense, but the Jefferson team could not be denied. From the thirty-five-yard line the purple started a play which brought gloom to the Ridgley stands. Norris ran with the ball round right end, somehow succeeded in evading the Ridgley primary defense, dodged both Durant and Teeny-bits and before the horrified eyes of the members of Ridgley School dashed madly down the field, over the goal line and round until he had placed the ball squarely behind the goal posts. On the black scoreboard a white figure 6 appeared after the name of the visiting school and a few moments later it was replaced by a 7.

Jefferson kicked off to Ridgley and the game was on more fiercely than ever, for Neil Durant's team meant to lose no time in winning back the superiority which had seemed to be theirs in the opening moments of the quarter, and the Jefferson players, for their part, meant to amplify their advantage until it assumed the proportions of the triumph, upon the attainment of which they had set their hearts.

All other games—their long succession of victories—were forgotten; the result they achieved against their ancient rival would overshadow everything else.

Ridgley was forced to kick after gaining one first down, by means of a forward pass, and the ball, once more possessed by Jefferson, was soon making an advance which influenced some one with a raucous voice in the purple stands to yell out in a lull of the cheering:

"It's all over, boys. Bring the undertaker!"

It did appear that Ridgley was in for a sorry time. Norris was living up to his reputation and seemed, in spite of the valiant efforts of every Ridgley player, to have luck always on his side. Once Stillson and Durant collided as they were about to tackle the Jefferson captain and the result was a twenty-yard gain which placed the ball again within the shadow of the Ridgley goal posts. Straight line plunges in which all of the Jefferson backs shared brought the ball to the Ridgley five-yard line for first down. Here the team that represented the school on the hill made a stand for three downs, but on the fourth attempt Norris, unexpectedly trying the end when a line plunge was anticipated, gained across the Ridgley goal line and brought the score to 13.

"Make it a lucky number," Teeny-bits heard the Jefferson captain say to Whipple who was preparing to kick the goal.

The Jefferson player followed the instructions of his captain to the letter,—and the man at the Scoreboard put up the number 14.

Certain weak spirits in the Ridgley stands now looked at each other with faces which showed plainly that hope had fled from them, that they now knew that the Jefferson menace which had been built up week after week by rumor and also by fact, as represented in scores, was real,—that the purple team was invincible, that Ridgley had met the irresistible force and could not by any alchemy of spirit turn defeat into victory.

Old football players, veterans of school and college struggles, looked down admiringly on the finely-polished team-work of the Jefferson eleven and said to themselves that this was good football judged by any standard.

A few minutes after the kick-off following the second score of the Jefferson team, the quarter came to an end and the teams exchanged goals. In the short rest period Neil Durant gathered his players about him and said a few things that every member of the eleven long remembered.

"Is there any one here," he asked, "who hasn't more fight in him than he has shown yet?"

No answer.

"We've just begun this game and we haven't had our chance to show them what we can do when we carry the ball. We're going to hold them first and then we're going to show them something they've never learned."

They were commonplace words, but they came from the bottom of Neil Durant's heart and were delivered in such a manner that every member of the team gained fresh confidence and put back out of the realm of his thoughts the growing fear of defeat.

The ball was in Jefferson's possession at the middle of the field. On the very next play the purple left-half fumbled, and Neil Durant swooped down on the bouncing ball like a hawk on a sparrow.

The error seemed to "rattle" the Jefferson team. Dean called for an end run by Neil Durant and the captain responded by dashing forward for a fifteen-yard gain. Stillson then added five, and Teeny-bits, who was called upon to carry the ball for the first time, wriggled and dodged through the Jefferson team to the fifteen-yard line before he was stopped. In an attempt to surprise the enemy, Dean called upon Teeny-bits again, but this time the half-back was stopped almost before he was under way. Stillson, who carried the ball next, did better and reached the ten-yard line. Neil Durant then made a line plunge through an opening that the reliable Tom Curwood created and planted the oval five yards from the goal line for a first down. Jefferson made a strong stand, but in four tries the Ridgley team advanced the ball until it rested a few inches over that last white line, the crossing of which spelled a score.

The old-timers in the stands now settled into comfortable positions and said to each other: "This is a game!"

Neil Durant's trusty toe sent the ball between the uprights and the game stood 14 to 7. Through the rest of the second quarter the red team and the purple team combated each other on equal terms. Neither seemed able to break the defense of the other and when the whistle sounded for the close of the first half they were fighting on equal terms in the center of the field.

While the stands were singing their songs and exchanging cheers between the halves the two teams rested in the locker building and listened to what their respective coaches had to say.

Coach Murray made his remarks short and to the point. He was entirely satisfied with the way the team had been playing; he knew that they could win. He warned them to watch Norris on every play and at the same time to beware of the Jefferson half-backs, who had proved their ability to carry the ball. He once more repeated one of the first things that belonged to his football creed: to watch the ball all of the time and to be ready, as Neil had been in the case of the Jefferson fumble, to take advantage of any "break." He also remarked on Dean's good judgment in running the team and said that he was glad the quarter-back had not attempted the trick play which the team had practiced during the last three weeks.

"The time will arrive for that in this second half," he said. "Be ready when it comes."

So deeply was Teeny-bits absorbed in the game that he had failed to notice that Campbell was not with the team until Curwood called attention to the fact that the substitute half-back was not in the locker building.

"I guess he's sore," some one remarked. "He thought he was going to play until Teeny-bits showed up."

All those events that had taken place during the past week seemed to Teeny-bits more like dreams than realities; the one thing that filled his mind now was the game and the conviction that Ridgley, in spite of the score against her, could and would win. He had thrilled to Neil Durant's and Coach Murray's words and could hardly wait for the second half to begin.

Within a few minutes they were on the field again, spread out to receive the kick-off from Jefferson. The whistle sounded and the ball was in the air, whirling end over end; it fell into the arms of Ned Stillson, who ran swiftly behind the interference formed by his mates only to come to earth with a thump as a heavy Jefferson guard broke through and made the tackle.

On the next play Dean exhibited a bit of good judgment that worked to the advantage of the Ridgley team: noticing that the Jefferson quarter was dangerously close to the line he saw the chance to slip a punt over his head. The stratagem worked; the punt that Neil Durant sent away quickly sailed over the quarter-back's head and rolled down the field to the Jefferson five-yard line. The quarter ran after it, made a quick scoop, and attempted to come back but was stopped before he had taken half a dozen steps.

Fighting hard, the Ridgley team prevented the visitors from advancing and forced them to kick from their own goal line. Neil Durant caught the punt at mid-field and dashed forward ten yards before he was checked. The moment seemed ripe for a strong Ridgley advance, but Norris and his men met the attack with a stiff resistance and threw back the first two attempts for a loss of three yards. Dean, in glancing over the enemy's line, then saw the opportunity for which he had been waiting; the time had arrived to try the surprise play. He gave a signal which brought a thrill to Teeny-bits.

In the two forward-pass formations that the Ridgley team had used earlier in the game Neil Durant both times had been the man to receive the ball from Dean. The members of the team now took somewhat obvious positions and the Jefferson eleven immediately assumed that a forward pass was being contemplated. One of the tackles even voiced his warning: "Look out for a pass!" and Norris shifted his position slightly to keep an eye on the Ridgley captain. Teeny-bits' duty was to dash through to the left and to get into the open space beyond the Jefferson line.

The preliminaries of the play worked to perfection. At the snap of the ball Neil Durant started swiftly to the right and drew after him the major part of the Jefferson secondary defense. For the moment Teeny-bits seemed to have been forgotten: it did not occur to the purple players that, with the big captain running swiftly into position to take the pass, his smaller back-field team-mate would be the one to receive the oval.