"Yes; but I didn't put him out."

"You would have put him off the team if it had been left for you to do it."

As soon as he thought the squad had had enough exercise to keep them in tone, d.i.c.k dismissed them.

"But every one of you do his level best to keep in condition all the time until we get through with Hallam Heights," urged the young captain. "That applies, too, not only to team members, but to every man in the squad. If the Hallam fellows are swift and terrific, we can't tell on whom we may have to pounce for subst.i.tutes."

This was to be a mid-week game, taking place Wednesday afternoon.

Wednesday morning word reached school that Hudson, who was down to play right guard, and Dan Dalzell, right end, were both at home in bed, threatened with pneumonia. In each case the doctor was hopeful that the attack would be averted, but that didn't help out the afternoon's game any.

"Two of our prize men out," muttered d.i.c.k anxiously to Dave at recess.

"And it's claimed that misfortunes always travel by threes," returned Darrin, half mournfully.

"Don't!" shivered Prescott. "Let us off with two misfortunes."

Afternoon came along, somewhat raw and lowering. Rain might prevent the game. Less than three quarters of the people who bought seats in advance appeared at the grounds. The sale of spot seats was not as brisk by half as it would have been on a pleasanter day.

But the Hallam Heights boys came along early, bounding and full of fun and dash.

They were a fine-looking lot of boys. The Gridley youngsters took to their opponents instantly.

"I wonder what's keeping d.i.c.k?" muttered Dave Darrin, half anxiously, in dressing quarters.

"Anyway, we won't worry about him until we have to," nodded Mr.

Morton. "Our young captain is about the promptest man, as a rule, in the whole squad."

"That's just why I am uneasy," grunted Dave.

Hardly had he spoken when d.i.c.k Prescott came in---but limping slightly!

And what a rueful countenance the young captain of the team displayed!

"Suffering Ebenezer, man, but what has happened?" gasped Dave.

All the other Gridley youngsters stopped half way in their togging to listen for the reply.

"Nothing much," grunted d.i.c.k. "Yet it came near to being too much. A man b.u.mped me, as I was getting on the car, and drove me against the iron dasher. It was all an accident, due to the man's clumsiness. But it barked my knee a good bit."

"Let me see you walk about the room," ordered Coach Morton. He watched closely, as d.i.c.k obeyed.

"Sit down, Prescott, and draw the trousers leg off on that side.

I want to examine the knee."

While Mr. Morton went to work the other members of the team crowded about, anxiety written on all their faces.

"Does it hurt more when I press?" asked the submaster keenly.

"Ah, I thought so! Prescott, you're not badly hurt for anything else; but your knee is in no shape to play this afternoon!"

A wail of dismay went up from the team members. The rueful look in d.i.c.k's face deepened.

"I was afraid you'd bar me out," he confessed. "I never felt so ashamed in my life."

"It wouldn't be of any use for you to play, for that knee wouldn't stand it in any rough smash," declared the coach, shaking his head solemnly.

"It's all off with us, then," groaned one of the fellows. "We may as well ask Hallam if they'll allow us to hand 'em a score of six to nothing on a platter, and then stay off the field."

"Hush your croaking, will you?" demanded Dave Darrin angrily, glaring about him. "Is that the Gridley way? Do we ever admit defeat? Whoever croaks had better quit the team altogether."

Under that rebuke the boy who had ventured the opinion shrank back abashed.

"You're sure I'll be in no shape to go on, Coach?" asked d.i.c.k anxiously.

"Why, of course you could go on," replied Mr. Morton. "And you could run about some, too, unless your knee got a good deal stiffer.

But you wouldn't be up to Gridley form."

"Have I any right to go on, with a knee in this shape?" queried d.i.c.k.

"You certainly haven't," replied Mr. Morton, with great emphasis.

"Dave," called the young football chief, "you're second captain of the team. Get in and get busy. Put up the best fight you can for old Gridley!"

"Aye, that I will," retorted Dave Darrin, his eyes sparkling, cheeks glowing. "I'll go in like a pirate chief, and I'll break the neck of any Gridley man who doesn't do all there is in him this afternoon."

"Listen to the fire eater," laughed Fenton. Dave grinned good-humoredly, but went insistently:

"All right. If any of you fellows think I take less than the best you can possibly do, try it out with me."

Then Darrin came over to rest a hand on Prescott's shoulder.

"d.i.c.k, you'll give me any orders you have before we go on, and between the halves, won't you?"

"Not a word," replied d.i.c.k promptly. "Dave, you can lead as well as ever I have done. If you're going to be captain to-day you'll be captain in earnest. I'll hamper you neither with advice nor orders."

With so important a player as d.i.c.k Prescott out of the team Dave had a hard task in rearranging the eleven. In this he sought direction from Mr. Morton. Rapidly they sketched the new line-up.

Darrin himself would have to drop quarterback and go to center.

For this latter post Dave was rather light, but he carried the knack of st.u.r.dy a.s.sault better than any other man in the team after Prescott.

Tom Reade was called to quarter. Shortly afterwards all the details had been completed.

"As to style, you'll gather that from the signals," muttered Darrin.

"The only rule is the one we always have---that we can't be beat and we know we can't."

There came a rap at the door. Then a bushy mop of football hair was thrust into the doorway.

"Talking strategy, signals or anything we shouldn't hear?" asked the pleasant voice of Forsythe, captain of the Hallam Heights boys.

"Not a blessed thing," returned Dave. "Come in, gentlemen."