proximity of a cat. "Cat
asthma", this was called. There weren't any words exactly descriptive
of Speed's disorder for he was courageous to a fault. In the heat of
battle he played with an abandon and a drive that usually carried him
through to his objectives. It wasn't, then, a matter of his actually
being "afraid" of anything. But, still, the seeming mere anticipation
of the big game with Hamilton produced a nerve-shattering reaction.

"I can't let this go on," Coach Brock decided, "or I won't have any
morale left. Hamilton has a strong eleven this year and we'll need all
the fighting spirit we've got. Now if I can just figure out some way
to suspend Speed from the team--tell him he's out of the big
game--relieve him of his nerve tension and then shove him in the
contest at the last minute ... that might turn the trick!"

Phil Doran and Milt Gleeson were as rabid Medford supporters as could
be found in college. More than this--they were close chums of Speed
Bartlett. Between them they owned a little runabout in which they
travelled to the various college towns where Medford's eleven might be
playing. The coming Hamilton game, however, was to be played at
Medford and, since it was to be the last contest of the season, the
boys' football trips were over.

"What do you suppose Coach Brock's sent for us about?" Phil asked Milt
as the two were on the way to the athletic director's office.

"Haven't the slightest idea," grinned Milt. "But maybe he wants us to
help him work out some new plays to spring against Hamilton!"

"Only play I could suggest would be for him to put in the first and
second teams at the same time," declared Phil. "Then we might have a
chance to win by sheer weight of numbers!"

"Oh, it's not as bad as that," replied Milt, defensively. "If Speed
just holds to his regular form this year, he'll give Hamilton plenty of
trouble. He's crazy to make up for his fumble in last season's game.
Have you seen him lately?"

"Not in three days. Have you?"

"No. I called around at his dorm yesterday but he wasn't in. About
time we got together again. Speed's a great guy."

"And a mighty sweet football player," complimented Phil. "Well, here
we are--outside the sanctum of the man who controls the destinies of
Medford pigskin chasers. Shall I rap?"

"Sure--don't you see it says 'private'?"

A voice bade the callers to "come in!" and Phil and Milt presently
found themselves standing befor