t did I tell you?" asked Roy. "You can't fool your uncle!"

"You hate yourself, don't you?" drawled Harry. "Come on over to the
room, you fellows."

Canterbury, having cheered the victor wholeheartedly, romped home.

CHAPTER XIII

SAWYER VOWS VENGEANCE

Miter Hill School followed Canterbury the next Saturday and was an
unexpectedly weak opponent. The contest was slow and lifeless and
dragged its weary length along until almost twilight. Miter Hill's
players were in poor physical condition and, since the afternoon was
warm and close, made a poor showing. The weather affected Brimfield,
too, although she was not as susceptible to injury as the other team.
Miter Hill was forever getting hurt, it seemed, and the audience which
had braved a remorseless sun and a horde of blood-thirsty midges soon
began to grumble.

The game was further slowed down in the last two periods by the
substitution of half the members of the second and third squads for the
Maroon-and-Grey. Even Tom had a three or four-minute experience on the
'varsity, something which he had long ceased hoping for, while Steve
played nearly all of the fourth period at right end. He did very well,
there, although Miter Hill was too weak in all departments of the game
to afford any of her opponents a fair test. Toward the last the contest
degenerated into more or less of a farce, Miter Hill tuckered and played
out, and Brimfield, with a line-up of third and fourth substitutes,
fumbling and mixing signals and running around like a hen with her head
off!

By that time those who had remained so long began to view the game as
what it really was, a comedy of errors, and got lots of fun out of it.
When Peters, at centre, passed the ball at least two feet above the
upstretched hands of Harris, who wanted to punt, and at least nine
youths raced back up the field in pursuit of it, shoving, tripping,
falling, rolling, and when it was Peters himself who finally dropped his
one hundred and seventy-odd pounds on it, the onlookers rocked in their
seats and applauded wildly. Later on another dash of humour was supplied
when Carmine poised the ball for a forward pass only to discover that no
one of his side was in position to take it. The quarter-back shouted
imploringly, running back and across the field, dodging two or three of
the enemy and by some miracle holding the ball out of harm's way all the
while. When, at last, thoroughly desperate, he heard someone shout