re's something glorious in that, but a team that stands up to
be pushed over, a team that lies down and quits, a team that hasn't
one bit of red fighting blood in it, they won't cheer; they're ashamed
of you! Now, I'll tell you what's going to happen to you. You're going
to be run down the field for just about four touchdowns. Here's Lentz
being tossed around by a fellow that weighs forty pounds less. Why,
he's the joke of the game. McCarty hasn't stopped a play, not one!
Waladoo's so easy that they rest up walking through him. But that's
not the worst, you're playing wide apart as though there wasn't a man
within ten miles of you; not one of you is helping out the other. The
only time you've taken the ball from them is when a little shaver
comes in and uses his head. Now, you're not going to win this game,
but by the Almighty you're going out there and going to hold that
Andover team! You've got the wind against you; you've got everything
against you; you've got to fight on your own goal line, not once, but
twenty times. But you've got to hold 'em; you're going to make good;
you're going to wipe out that disgraceful, cowardly first half! You're
going out there to stand those fellows off! You're going to make the
school cheer for you again as though they believed in you, as though
they were proud of you! You're going to do a bigger thing than beat a
weaker team! You're going to fight off defeat and show that, if you
can't win, you can't be beaten!"

Mr. Ware, in a professional way, passed from one to another with a
word of advice: "Play lower, get the jump--don't be drawn in by a fake
plunge--watch Goodhue."

But Dink heard nothing; he sat in his corner, clasping and unclasping
his hands, suffering with the moments that separated him from the
fray. Then all at once he was back on the field, catching the force of
the wind that blew the hair about his temples, hearing the
half-hearted welcome that went up from the school.

"Hear that cheer!" said Garry Cockrell bitterly.

From Butcher Stevens' boot the ball went twisting and veering down the
field. Stover went down, dodging instinctively, hardly knowing what he
did. Then as he started to spring at the runner an interferer from
behind flung himself on him and sent him sprawling, but not until one
arm had caught and checked his man.

McCarty had stopped the runner, when Dink sprang to his feet, wild
with the rage of having missed his tackle.

"Steady!" cried the voic