o had
been forced into the unenviable role of trying to fill Coach Brown's
great shoes, and stood--fumbling with his cap. There was an awkward
moment, broken finally by Red Murdock.

"You said you had something important. Let's get it over quickly. I
don't feel like...."

Tim Mooney crumpled the cap in his large right hand and raised the fist
in an appealing gesture.

"It's just this, sir... I didn't have to--being off the squad--but
I've kept every regulation since. And I want to go in. I'd give my
right arm to go in. I--I--somehow I feel like I'd been partly
responsible for J. B.'s death!"

"You shouldn't feel that way, Mooney."

"Perhaps not ... but I can't help it.... If we'd only won from
Larwood. But we can't lose to Delmar, Mr. Murdock. We can't! No
matter how strong Delmar is we've got to beat 'em ... for J. B.'s sake.
Please, sir ... won't you reinstate me just for this game? After that
I'm through. I'll never play again so long as I live..." Mooney
choked. "I guess there's no flowers our coach would like better than a
victory over Delmar. Won't you let me help try to give 'em to him?"

There was something in Tim Mooney's appeal that was heart-rending.
Tears glistened in the former Elliott fullback's eyes and found their
reflection in the eyes of John Brown's assistant coach.

"Mooney," spoke Red Murdock, with difficulty, "I know just how you
feel. I played for J. B. once and I'd have given as much for him in
life as you're now willing to give to him in death. I can't refuse
you, boy. You play. Report for practice tomorrow night!"

Outside the brown-stoned house and across the street from the place in
which Red Murdock had his room, a girl paced up and down, taking care
to keep within the gathering shadows. Every once in a while she would
stop, just opposite the house, and gaze anxiously at the entrance. The
time of her waiting seemed a young eternity to her though in all it
could not have been more than ten minutes. And then the figure she had
been looking for emerged. He glanced about, saw her, and both started
toward each other.

"What did he say?" she cried, breathlessly.

The former Elliott fullback did not attempt a verbal reply. He simply
reached out and gripped the hands of the girl, as they met, and nodded
his head.

"Pm so glad," she murmured, tears splashing down upon his rough
knuckles. "I really think J. B. misjudged me ... and I haven't any way
of making up