to say another word on the shameful
subject."

So the two chums walked along in silence, soon parting to take
their different ways home.

At half-past two both chums met Mr. Morton at the High School.
The submaster led the way to the office, producing his keys and
unlocking the door. They had moved in silence so far.

"Take seats, please," requested Mr. Morton, in a low voice. "I'll
be with you in a moment."

The submaster then stepped over to a huge filing cabinet. Unlocking
one of the sections, he looked busily through, then came back
with a paper in his hand.

"I think I know whom you both suspect," began coach.

"Phin Drayne," spoke Dick, without hesitation.

"Yes. Well here is Drayne's recent examination paper in modern
literature. It is, of course, in his own handwriting."

Eagerly the two football men and their coach bent over to compare
Drayne's handwriting with that on the envelope that had come back
from Milton.

"There has been an attempt at disguise," announced Mr. Morton,
using a magnifying glass over the two specimens of writing. "Yet
I am rather sure, in my own mind, that a handwriting expert would
pronounce both specimens to have been written by the same hand."

"We've nailed Drayne, then," muttered Darrin vengefully.

"It looks like it," assented Mr. Morton. "However, we'll go slowly.
For the present I'll put this examination paper with our other
'exhibits' and secure them all carefully in my inside pocket.
Now, then, let us make our pencils fly for a while in getting
up a revised code of signals."

It was not a long task after all. From the two typewritten copies
Dick copied the first half of the plays, Dave the latter. Then
Coach Morton went over the new sheets, rapidly jotting down new
figures that should make all plain.

"Ten minutes past three," muttered coach, thrusting all the papers
in his inside pocket and buttoning his coat. "Now, we'll have
to take a car and get up to the field on the jump."

"But, oh, the task of drilling all the new calls into the fellows
between now and Saturday afternoon!" groaned Dave Darrin, in a
tone that suggested real misery.

"We'll do it," retorted Captain Dick. "We've got to!"

"And to make the boys forget all the old calls, so that they won't
mix the signals!" muttered Dave disconsolately.

"We'll do it!"

It was Coach Morton who took up the refrain this time. And it
was Prescott who added:

"We've got to do it. Nothing is