ust how his full, kindly old face, with the twinkling eyes, used
to encourage the fellows up to the prettiest work that was in
then. Oh, he was a mascot---Dr. Thornton was!"

Coach Morton was of the same mind, but he didn't say so, as it
would sound like a rejection on the present unpopular principal,
Abner Cantwell.

This afternoon there was no real team practice Mr. Morton wanted
certain individual play features brought out more strongly. One
of these was the kicking of the ball.

After several had worked with the pigskin Morton called out:

"Now, Prescott, you take the ball, and drop back to the twenty-five-yard
line. When you get there name your shot---that is, tell us where
you intend to put the ball. Where doesn't matter as long as it
is a long kick and a true one. After you name your shot, then
run swiftly to the center of the field. From there, without a
long pause, kick and see how straight you can drive for the point
you have named."

"All right, sir," nodded Dick. Tucking the pigskin under his
arm, he jogged back to the twenty-five-yard line.

"Right over there!" called Dick, pointing. "I'll try to drop
the ball in the front row of seats, second section past the entrance."

"Very good, Prescott!"

No one was sitting in the section named by Prescott, but a few
onlookers who had been squatting in a section near by hastily
moved.

"The duffers! They needn't think I am going to hit them with
the ball," muttered Dick. Then he started on a hard run.

Just at center he stopped abruptly, swung back his right foot
and dropped the ball.

It was a hard, fast drive. The ball arched upward, somewhat,
though it did not travel high.

But to Dick, standing still to watch the effect of his kick there
came a sudden jolt. A man had just appeared, walking through
the entrance passage. His head, well up above the sloping sides
of the passage at this point, was not right in line with the ball.

And that man was Principal Cantwell!

Several members of the squad saw what might happen, but every
one of them was too eagerly expectant to make a sound to prevent
the threatened catastrophe.

Dick saw and half shivered. Yet in his desire to say something
in the fewest words of warning, all he could think of was:

"Low bridge!"

Nor did Coach Morton succeed in thinking of anything more helpful,
for he shouted only:

"Mr. Cantwell!"

"Eh?" asked the principal, turning toward the coach and therefore