rew him heavily. He fell on Andy, and the
breath seemed to leave our hero. His eyes saw black, and there was a
ringing in his ears as of many bells.

CHAPTER XIII

BARGAINS

"That's enough! Get up off him! Don't you know enough, Gaffington, to
tell when a man's down?"

Andy heard the sharp voice of the coach, Holwell, but the tones seemed
to come from a great distance.

"Water here!"

"Somebody's keeled over!"

"It's that freshman, Blair. Plucky little imp, too!"

"Who tackled him?"

"Gaffington. Took him a bit high and fell on him!"

"Oh, well, this is football; it isn't kindergarten beanbag."

Dimly Andy heard these comments. He opened his eyes, only to close them
again as he felt a dash of cold water in his face.

"Feel all right now?"

It was the voice of the coach in his ears. Andy felt himself being
lifted to his feet. His ears rang, and he could not see clearly. There
was a confused mass of forms about him, and the ground seemed to reel
beneath his feet.

Then like another dash of cold water came the thought to him, sharply
and clearly:

"This isn't playing the game! If I'm going to go over like this every
time I'm tackled I'll never play for Yale. Brace up!"

By sheer effort of will Andy brought his staggering senses back.

"I--I'm all right," he panted. "Sort of a solar plexus knock, I guess."

"That's the way to talk!" exclaimed the coach, grimly. "Now then,
fellows, hit it up. Where's that ball? Oh, you had it, did you, Blair?
That's right, whatever happens, keep the ball! Get into the play now.
Varsity, tear up that scrub line! What's the matter with you, anyhow?
You're letting 'em go right through you. Smash 'em! Smash 'em good and
hard. All right now, Blair?"

"Yes, sir."

"Get in the game then. Scrub's ball. Hurry up! Signal!"

Sharp and incisive came his tones, like some bitter tonic. Not a word of
praise--always finding fault; and as for sympathy--you might as well
have looked for it from an Indian ready to use his scalping knife. And
yet--that is what made the Yale team what it was--a fighting machine.

Once more came the line-up, the scrub quarter snapping out his signals.

Andy took his old place. He was rapidly feeling better, yet his whole
body ached and he felt as though he had fallen from a great height. He
was terribly jarred, for Mortimer had put into the tackle all his fierce
energy, adding to it a spice of malice.

Andy heard the signal given for the fo