his neck and Clint's left hand was under his armpit and
he found himself thrust around against his guard. And that was as near
to breaking through as Cupples came for the rest of the scrimmage.

Four coaches thumped Clint on the back and excitedly praised him, and
Clint felt suddenly that to defeat the wicked machinations of the
ambitious Cupples was the biggest thing in life. After that it was a
battle royal between them, Cupples using every bit of brain and sinew he
possessed to outwit his opponent and Clint watching him as a cat
watches a mouse and constantly out-guessing him and "getting the jump"
time after time. Cupples had a bleeding lip and a smear of brown earth
down one cheek and was a forbidding looking antagonist, and for hours
after practice was over Clint had only to close his eyes to visualise
the angry, intense countenance of his opponent. Had Clint but known it,
he was not a very pretty object himself just then. Someone's boot had
rubbed the skin from his left cheek and the blood had caked there, well
mixed with dirt, until he looked quite villainous.

The 'varsity scored twice by straight football and once by the use of
tricks which were designed to outwit Claflin a week later. The second
managed a field-goal from the fifteen yards. Toward the end the 'varsity
used substitutes freely, but Clint played through to the last, emerging
with many an aching bone, a painful shortness of breath and a fine glow
of victory. Mr. Detweiler, red-faced and perspiring, caught him on the
side line as he dragged his tired feet toward the blanket pile. "All
right, Thayer?" he asked anxiously.

"Yes, sir," panted Clint.

"Good! Get in as soon as you can and have a good rub. You played real
football, boy, and I'm proud of you! Keep it up!"

"You bet I will!" murmured Clint to himself, as he turned toward the
gymnasium. "I'll show Cupples that he can't come through me, the
big guy!"

Ten minutes later, refreshed by his shower, he ran into Cupples outside
the door to the rubbing room. Cupples, a piece of surgeon's plaster
adorning his lip, grinned. Clint grinned back.

"Some game," he said.

"Was it!" agreed Cupples. "Clint, you've got the rest of them all backed
off the map! Saunders hasn't a thing on you, old man, and I've played
against him and know. I hope they keep you there."

"Thanks, Cupples, but if the Claflin chap is any tougher than you are I
guess Saunders is welcome to his job whenever he wants it back