or being, and so the fault was, after all, not with
Fletcher; but it was disappointing nevertheless.

And, as is invariably the case, he saw where he had made mistakes in the
handling of his team; realized, now that it was too late, that he had
given too much attention to that thing, too little to this; that, as
things had turned out, certain plays discarded a week before would have
proved of more value than those substituted. He sighed, and moved down
the line to keep abreast of the teams, now five yards nearer the
Hillton goal.

"Crozier must come out in a moment," said a voice beside him. He turned
to find Professor Beck, the trainer and physical director. "What a game
he has put up, eh?"

Gardiner nodded.

"Best quarter in years," he answered. "It'll weaken us considerably, but
I suppose it's necessary." There was a note of interrogation in the
last, and the professor heard it.

"Yes, yes, quite," he replied. "The boy's on his last legs." Gardiner
turned to the line of substitutes behind them.

"Decker!"

The call was taken up by those nearest at hand, and the next instant a
short, stockily-built youth was peeling off his crimson sweater. The
referee's whistle blew, and while the mound of squirming players found
their feet again, Gardiner walked toward them, his hand on
Decker's shoulder.

"Play slow and steady your team, Decker," he counseled. "Use Young and
Fletcher for runs; try them outside of tackle, especially on the right.
Give Gale a chance to hit the line now and then and diversify your plays
well. And, my boy, if you get that ball again, and of course you will,
_don't let it go_! Give up your twenty yards if necessary, only hang on
to the leather!"

Then he thumped him encouragingly on the back and sped him forward.
Crozier, the deposed quarter-back, was being led off by Professor Beck.
The boy was pale of face and trembling with weariness, and one foot
dragged itself after the other limply. But he was protesting with tears
in his eyes against being laid off, and even the hearty cheers for him
that thundered from the stand did not comfort him. Then the game went
on, the tide of battle flowing slowly, steadily, toward the
Crimson's goal.

"If only they don't score again!" said Gardiner.

"That's the best we can hope for," said Professor Beck.

"Yes; it's turned out worse than I expected."

"Well, you can comfort yourself with the knowledge that they've played
as plucky a game against odds