y and it took a hard fight to drub the
seconds in a short scrimmage.

The next day, Saturday, Bartlett met and defeated Paulson, 20 to 7,
thus keeping her record clean for the entire season up to the final
game. The high class of football that the little college displayed in
besting Paulson, a team touted to be her equal, gladdened the hearts of
every Bartlett rooter. The spirits of all were now fairly on edge for
the coming contest with Pennington, just five days away. Some even
conceded Bartlett an equal chance but when respective records were
compared the skeptics shook their heads. Although both teams had clean
slates as to victories, Pennington had played against some stronger
teams than Bartlett and seemed to possess a much greater scoring
machine.

Cateye had only played in one quarter of the Paulson game. Coach
Phillips was saving him for the big fray and taking no risks of his
knee giving out. Judd watched the game from the bench.

Monday afternoon marked the last day of scrimmage for the varsity.
Coach Phillips had decided to spend the remaining two days at secret
signal practice. Consequently the college turned out almost to a man
to watch their idol pigskin chasers maul the scrubs as a final
demonstration of their ability to whip Pennington. Inspired by the
wild cheers of the student body and the realization that the season's
biggest game was only two days distant, the varsity fairly outdid
itself.

But the faithful second team was resolved to make the varsity earn
every touchdown that they secured and fought fiercely to stop each
play. For fifteen minutes the battered seconds withstood the onslaught
and actually succeeded in pushing across a touchdown themselves. After
this the game became a rout and finally ended in a 56 to 7 score. Both
elevens left the field, physically fit and in good spirits, but dead
tired.

"Whew!" gasped Benz, throwing a shoe the length of the locker room,
"Talk about marathon races! I'll bet I ran ten or twenty miles up and
down the field scoring touchdowns."

"Great snakes! Did you hear that, guys?" broke in Knox, a second
string man, "The swelled head only scored two touchdowns himself and
yet he runs ten or twenty miles! What were you doing, Benz, playing
solitaire?"

"Never you mind," retorted Benz, amid laughter; then, seeing a way out:
"Possibly, Knox, you have never heard of Miles Standish. That's the
kind of Miles I run."

"Zowie!"

"Take him ou