roped at his
ankle, caught, and Carmine fell sprawling to the turf. But he found his
feet like a cat, wrenched the imprisoned ankle free and went staggering,
stumbling on. Again he fell, on the five-yard line, and again the Benton
quarter dived for him. But Carmine was not to be stopped with the line
only five short yards away. He wrested himself to his feet again, the
arms of the Benton quarter squirming about his knees, plunged on a
stride, dragging the enemy with him, found his legs locked firmly now,
struggled desperately and then flung himself sidewise toward the last
white streak. And as he fell his hands, clasping the ball, reached
forward and a whistle blew.

It was said afterward that a half-inch decided that touchdown. And the
half-inch was on the wrong side of the line! Carmine wept frankly when
he heard the decision and Tom Hall had to be held away from the referee,
but facts were facts and Carmine had lost his touchdown and Brimfield
the victory by the width of a finger!

Benton departed joyously, cheering and singing, and Brimfield tried hard
to be satisfied with a drawn game. But she wasn't very successful, and
for the next few days the referee's decision was discussed and derided
and regretted.

What sorrow Don felt was largely mitigated when, after supper that
evening, Steve Edwards found him in front of Billings. "You come to us
Monday, Don," said the captain. "Robey told me to tell you. Joe
Gafferty's got a rib caved in and is out of it for a fortnight at least.
Get Tim to coach you up on the signals. Don't forget."

As though he was likely to!

CHAPTER X

TIM EXULTS AND EXPLAINS

WHEN Don told Tim the latter insisted on performing a triumphal dance
about the room to the tune of "Boola." When Don squirmed himself loose
Tim continued alone until the droplight was knocked to the floor at the
cost of one green shade. Then he threw himself, panting but jubilant, on
his bed and hilariously kicked his feet in air. Don observed him with a
faint smile.

"You wooden Indian, you!" exclaimed Tim, sitting up and dropping his
feet to the floor with a crash. "There you stand like a--a graven image,
looking as though you'd just received an invitation to a funeral! Cheer,
you idiot! Make a noise! Aren't you tickled to death?"

"You bet I am!" replied Don.

"Well, do something, then! You ought to have a little of my Latin
temperament, Don. You'd be a heap easier to live with. If it was I who
had