he doing this for?" asked the bewildered driver.

"Don't know," grinned the sub next him. "If he finds he needs you,
he'll probably send you into the game!"

The time-out period exhausted, Medford resumed play with third down and
eight to go on Hamilton's fifteen yard mark. But, so stimulating was
the knowledge that Speed Bartlett was actually on the field, Medford
opened up a hole which sent quarterback Pete Slade galloping through
for a first down!

And then the top of the stadium all but lifted as Speed dashed out on
the gridiron, buckling his belt. Team-mates greeted him like a long
lost brother and Medford went into a huddle. The stands were in an
uproar. Fullback Ned Turner went through for two yards to Hamilton's
five yard mark.

There was nothing nervous about Speed Bartlett as he crouched in his
position, waiting to hear his signal called. He had been given so much
to think about on his wild ride from Ashby to Medford that the nerve
strain had left him. He was coldly calm and grimly determined,
obsessed with a desire to make up for lost time. An enthused Medford,
having taken a severe battering from Hamilton earlier in the game, now
tore into the enemy and made a slicing opening for her backfield star
who flashed through and over the line for a touchdown on his first play.

Phil and Milt, just entering the stadium after a fruitless search for
Speed, could not believe their eyes as they looked out on the gridiron.

"What's Coach been doing--kidding us?" they gasped. "Speed's been in
the game all the time!"

Greater cheers as Speed kicked goal for extra point and the scoreboard
changed to read: Hamilton, 13, Medford, 7.

"Six more minutes to play!" someone announced, hysterically. "Do it
again, Speed, old boy!"

Team members exchanged words with Speed as they lined up to kick off to
Hamilton.

"Boy, we thought you'd never get here!"

"So did I!" Speed grinned. "Been softening Hamilton up for me all this
time, eh? Well, let's get another touchdown!"

A worried Hamilton, receiving the kick-off, was downed on her
twenty-two yard mark. But three yards were gained on two tries and
Hamilton punted, desperately resolved to hold the touchdown lead to the
finish. It was Medford's ball on her own thirty-three yard line. But
Medford now was playing with a frenzy and yet with a precision which it
had not shown all season. Mixing line plays, end runs and lateral
passes, with Speed Bartlett bein