nd between his mouth and Mack's ear and
whispered a figure.

"No?" cried Mack, overjoyed, and--forthwith leaped atop his brother's
back, bearing him to earth for a down which was not recorded in the
game!

A CASE OF NERVES

"Look at that guy--he hasn't been eating enough to keep a canary alive
for the last three days!"

"You know what's the trouble, don't you?"

"Indigestion?"

"Yeah--nervous indigestion? Speed's on edge over the big game next
Saturday against Hamilton!"

"No kidding?"

Kinky Doyle, who sat at the Second Team's training table, stared at his
informant unbelievingly.

"Straight dope!" replied Sober Watkins, quarterback of the Scrubs, with
a glance toward the Varsity training table nearby and star half-back
Speed Bartlett, toying with his meal. "Speed had the same kind of
stagefright last season ... lost so much appetite and sleep and got so
high strung that he fumbled in the Hamilton game and handed them the
victory on a platter!"

"That's funny," said Kinky, after a pause. "He hasn't been this way up
to the last few days. He's played through the whole year...!"

"Sure--the big game's the only one that bothers him this way," grinned
Sober. "You know, some fellows can stand every kind of flower but
goldenrod ... and that knocks them for a flock of sneezes. Well, for
some reason, Speed has the feeling that Hamilton's not to be sniffed
at. All the other games are just dress rehearsals but this contest is
the real thing!"

"That's bad," declared Kinky, seriously. "Bad for Speed and bad for
the team. The other fellows can't help but be depressed by the way
he's taking it. And after what happened last year it'll be a wonder if
Speed don't have the whole eleven on edge."

"You said it," agreed Sober. "But what can we do about it? That's a
neat little problem for Coach Brock to solve!"

Could the two squad members have known it, the Coach was even at that
moment turning a rather drastic plan over in his mind. Something
certainly had to be done. Practically every fellow at the Varsity and
Second Team training tables had observed the sudden funereal atmosphere
being radiated by one Speed Bartlett. His sad and solemn conduct had
begun to descend like a pall upon a heretofore gay and carefree dining
hall. Just why this climax to a Medford season should have such a
nervous effect upon her star halfback was as difficult to determine as
why some folks got short of breath in the