a rush. He was a big tackle, and Tom was much
smaller. Yet he did not hesitate.

"Look out!" yelled the Holwell player, hoping to intimidate Tom, as he
rushed at him. But Tom was not made of the material that frightens
easily. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself for the tackle. He
fairly hurled himself at the man, through a mist of rain, and he caught
him. Down they went together in a heap, Tom groaning as he felt his
left ankle giving way under the strain.

In vain the big tackle tried to get up and struggle on. Tom held fast;
and then it was all over, for the other Elmwood players, seeing their
mistake, hurried to Tom's aid, and a small human mountain piled up on
him and the Holwell lad.

"Down!" howled the latter, ceasing his wriggling. The whistle blew,
ending the game, with the ball but a scant foot from Elmwood's goal
line.

"Good boy!" called Captain Denton into Tom's ear. "You saved our bacon
for us."

"I'm glad I did," replied Tom, limping around.

"Are you hurt much?" asked Morse.

"No, only a bit of sprained ankle. I'll be all right in a little
while, I guess."

"It was great! Simply great!" exclaimed Jack a few hours later, when
he and Tom and Bert sat in their room, the smell of arnica filling the
apartment, coming from Tom's bandaged ankle. "You sure played your
head off, old man!"

"I know I nearly played my leg off," agreed Tom, with a wry face. "I
can just step on it, and that's all."

"Never mind, we beat 'em," consoled Bert. "And you did it, Tom."

"Nonsense. It was team work. Sam played a fair game too. That helped
a lot. I was afraid of him at first."

"He didn't dare do anything," said Jack. "I told him I'd have my eye
on him."

They talked over the plays in detail. Tom was just beginning to feel
sleepy when there came a knock on the door.

"Come in," he called, for it was not yet the hour for lights to be out,
and even a professor would find nothing out of the way. One of the
school messengers entered.

"Here's a note for you, Mr. Fairfield," he Said. "A special delivery
letter."

Tom read it quickly. A change came over his face.

"I've got to go out!" he exclaimed, crumpling up the missive. He
reached for his raincoat limping across the room.

"Go out in this storm!" cried Jack. "You oughtn't to!"

"Not with a lame ankle," added Bert.

"I've got to," insisted Tom. "It means more than you think," and
telling his chums not to sit up for him,