now Ferry Hill was outplaying Hammond man for man, in spite of
the fact that what superiority there was in age and weight was with the
rival team. Both elevens were tired, but Ferry Hill was the least so,
and to her admirers it seemed that her warriors fought harder, more
determinedly every moment. Chub, watching anxiously between vocal
efforts, came to this conclusion and turned to Sidney Welch, who, having
failed to make the team, was patriotically doing his best to cheer it on
to victory.

"Sid," said Chub, "if we had another quarter of an hour to play we'd
lick 'em sure as fishing! Why, we're playing better every minute! And
look at Roy Porter! The chump is just getting warmed up! Did you ever
see a team run any finer than that, eh? And look at the way he gets
around himself, will you? Why, he's all over the shop and into
everything! He reminds me of Snip out in the barn. I saw Snip kill a
rat, bite the cow's leg, chase a fly and scratch his ear all inside of
ten seconds one day. And Roy's just like him. And, just between you and
me, Sid, the fellows are working better for him than they did for Bacon,
but maybe it's because they're finding their pace. If only Whitcomb
could get away around the end! The whistle will blow, I'll bet a cookey,
just when we're on the edge of a score! Why doesn't Roy try a
quarter-back run, I wonder? Look at Jack Rogers; he's over there on the
ground, see? I'll bet he doesn't know whether he's on his head or his
feet, and I don't believe he could tell you his name this minute if you
asked him. Fact is, my boy, I feel rather better myself for talking
every minute; it sort of keeps my heart out of my mouth. And as for
you, Sid, that button will be off in just about two more turns. Here,
let's give 'em a cheer."

Chub leaped to his feet and in a moment the slogan was thundering across
the field to where eleven brown-clad figures were forming once more
against the foe. And it did them good, that cheer; it proclaimed
confidence and affection, and it heartened them so that when the dust of
battle had blown aside the man with the ball lay across the thirty-yard
line!

It was maddening. Only thirty yards to go, only six trampled white lines
to cross, and not time enough to do it, unless--Roy called for time to
tie a lace and while he bent over his shoe he thought hard. Ever since
he had taken charge of the team he had been studying the disposition of
the enemy's force. He had one more trump t