was equaled by the intensity of his enemy's coldly-calculating glance.

"Here's where I squash that fly," thought McCarty.

"Here's where I fasten to that big stuff," thought Dink, "and sting
him until the last day of the season!"

The first direct clash came when the scrubs were given the ball and
Dink came in to aid his tackle box McCarty for the run that was
signaled around their end.

Tough made the mistake of estimating Stover simply by his lack of
weight, without taking account of the nervous, dynamic energy which
was his strength. Consequently, at the snap of the ball, he was taken
by surprise by the wild spring that Stover made directly at his throat
and, thrown off his balance momentarily by the frenzy of the impact,
tripped and went down under the triumphant Dink, who, unmindful of the
fact that the play had gone by, remained proudly fixed on the chest of
the prostrate tackle.

"Get off," said the muffled voice.

Stover, whose animal instincts were all those of the bulldog, pressed
down more firmly.

"Get off of me, you little blockhead," said McCarty growing furious as
he heard the jeers of his teammates at his humiliating reversal.

"Hurry up there, you Stover!" cried the voice of the captain,
unheeded, for Dink was too blindly happy with the thrill of perfect
supremacy over the hated McCarty to realize the situation.

"Stover!!!"

At the shouted command Dink looked up and at last perceived the play
was over. Reluctantly he started to rise, when a sudden upheaval of
the infuriated McCarty caught him unawares and Tough's vigorous arm
flung him head over heels.

Down went Dink with a thump and up again with rage in his heart. He
rushed up to McCarty as in the mad fight under the willows and struck
him a resounding blow.

The next moment not Tough, but Cockrell's own mighty hand caught him
by the collar and swung him around.

"Get off the field!"

"What?" said Dink, astounded, for in his ignorance he had expected
complimentary pats on his back.

"Off the field!"

Dink, cold in a minute, quailed under the stern eye of the supreme
leader.

"I did sling him pretty hard, Garry," said Tough, taking pity at the
look that came into Dink's eyes at this rebuke.

"Get off!"

Dink, who had stopped with a sort of despairing hope, went slowly to
the side-lines, threw a blanket over his head and shoulders and
squatted down in bitter, utter misery. Another was in his place,
plunging at the tackle