unabout scurried out of Wandel's way. The pert little mare sensed a
rival in the automobile, and gave Wandel all the practice he wanted.
George smiled at the busy little man as his cart slithered from side to
side of the driveway.

"That's Spike's one weakness," Goodhue laughed as they hurried off.
"He's not a natural horseman, but he loves the beasts, so he takes his
falls. By the way, I rather think I can guess what he's up to with you."

"What?" George asked.

Goodhue shook his head.

"Learn from Spike. Anyway, I may be wrong."

Then why had Goodhue spoken at all? To put him on his guard?

"Wandel," George promised himself, "will get away with nothing as far as
I am concerned."

Yet all that night the thought of the little man made him uncomfortable.

XIV

George watched his first big varsity game the following Saturday. It was
the last of the season, against Yale. He sat with Goodhue and other
members of the Freshman eleven in an advantageous part of the stands.
The moment the blue squad, greeted by a roar, trotted on the field, he
recognized Lambert Planter's rangy figure. Lambert's reputation as a
fullback had come to Princeton ahead of him, and it had scarcely been
exaggerated. Once he had torn through the line he gave the Princeton
backs all they wanted to do. He kicked for Yale. Defensively he was the
deadliest man on the field. He, George and Goodhue agreed, would
determine the outcome. As, through him, the balance of the contest
commenced to tip, George experienced a biting restlessness. It wasn't
the prospect of the defeat of Princeton by Yale that angered him so much
as the fact that Lambert Planter would unquestionably be the cause.
George felt it unjust that rules should exist excluding him from that
bruising and muddy contest. More than anything else just then he wanted
to be on the field, stopping Planter, avoiding the reluctance of such an
issue.

"We ought to be out there, Morton," Goodhue muttered. "If nothing
happens, we will be next year."

"It's that fellow Planter," George answered. "He could be stopped."

"You could stop him," Goodhue said. "You could outkick him."

George's face was grim.

"I'm stronger than Planter," he said, simply. "I could beat him."

The varsity, however, couldn't. Lambert, during the last quarter,
slipped over the line for the deciding touchdown. The game ended in a
dusky and depressing autumn haze. George and Goodhue watched sullenly
the enemy hosts