other player bearing swiftly
down on them, who must instantly be reckoned with. That would be Ranny's
task. He must stop the fellow, while Dale took his chance alone with the
other.

Dale glanced sideways at his companion, and his heart leaped into his
throat. Phelps was limping; something had happened to him in that last
scrimmage. His face showed white even through the grime and tan; his
under lip was flecked with crimson.

"Ranny!" gasped Dale, in a panic. "What-- Can you--"

"Don't--worry--about--me," came indistinctly through the other's clenched
teeth. "I'll--block--this fellow--somehow. You get the other--you've got
to!"

Taking a fresh grip on the ball, Dale spurted on. He was aware that Ranny
had sheered off a little to the right, and knew that he meant to stop
the boy racing up from that direction. But actually he saw nothing, and
even the crash of meeting bodies came to him as something far away and
unimportant. His clearing brain was fixed on the looming figure ahead,
the full-back, who alone stood between him and victory.

He must be passed--but how? A thought of hurdling flashed into his mind,
to be dismissed as too hazardous. There was only one way left. Without
slackening speed, he tore on, his heart thumping like a trip-hammer.
To the breathless onlookers it seemed as if he meant actually to run down
the opposing player. Then, in a flash, when he was almost within reach
of the hooking arms, he swerved suddenly to one side, whirled, darted
the other way, eluded the other's frantic clutch by the merest hair,
and with a sob of joy ran on, free, the ball still cupped in the curve
of his arm.

CHAPTER VIII

THE GOOD TURN

Ten minutes later the small building on the edge of the field was
thronged with joyous, excited boys in various stages of undress, who
celebrated the victory with shrill jubilations, snatches of song, or
exuberant outbursts of mere noise. The strain and tension of the
afternoon were forgotten; nobody remembered the nearness of defeat in the
recollection of that last splendid rally which had brought them all so
much closer together.

On every hand fellows were comparing notes and talking over details of
the struggle in eager fragments. "Remember the time--" "Say, how about
that gain through center when Ted--" "Some run, wasn't it?"

"Oh, you Tommy!" shrilled Court Parker, catching Dale's eye. "Awful punk
run that was--simply awful!"

Tompkins smiled back at him, but di