ght advantage.

Dink used to dream of mornings, in the lagging hours of recitation, of
the contest and the sweet humiliation of his ancient foes. He would
play like a demon, he would show them, Tough McCarty and the rest,
what it was to be up against the despised Dink--and dreaming thus he
used to say to himself, with suddenly tense arms:

"Gee, I only wish McCarty would play back of the line so I could get a
chance at him!"

But on Tuesday, during the 'Varsity practice, suddenly as a scrimmage
ended and sifted open a cry went up. Ned Banks, left end on the
'Varsity, was seen lying on the ground after an attempt to rise. They
gathered about him with grave faces, while Mr. Ware bent over him in
anxious examination.

"What is it?" said the captain, with serious face.

"Something wrong with his ankle; can't tell yet just what."

"I'll play Saturday, Garry," said Banks, gritting his teeth. "I'll be
ready by then. It's nothing much."

The subs carried him off the field with darkened faces--the last hopes
of victory seemed to vanish. The gloom spread thickly through the
school, even Dink, for a time, forgot the approaching hour of his
revenge in the great catastrophe. The next morning a little comfort
was given them in the report of Doctor Charlie that there was no
sprain but only a slight wrenching, which, if all went well, would
allow him to start the game. But the consolation was scant. What
chance had Banks in an Andover game? There would have to be a shift;
but what?

"Turkey Reiter will have to go from tackle to end," said Dink, that
afternoon, as in football togs they gathered on the steps before the
game, "and put a sub in Turkey's place."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

"I guess you don't."

"Might bring Butcher Stevens back from center."

"Who'd go in at center?"

"Fatty Harris, perhaps."

"Hello--here's Garry Cockrell now," said P. Lentz. "He don't look
particular cheerful, does he?"

The captain, looking indeed very serious, arrived, surveyed the group
and called Stover out. Dink, surprised, jumped up, saying:

"You want me, sir?"

"Yes."

Cockrell put his arm under his and drew him away.

"Stover," he said, "I've got bad news for you."

"For me?"

"Yes. I'm not going to let you go in the Woodhull game this
afternoon."

Stover received the news as though it had been the death of his entire
family, immediate and distant. His throat choked, he tried to say
something and did not dare trust