was himself, and, though the members of the team treated him as
cordially as ever, he had the unpleasant feeling that they looked upon
him now as one who had failed in a crisis, and he had to admit to
himself that their opinion--if they held it--was justly founded. He went
back to his room and for half an hour before supper sat by his window,
thinking deeply. The conclusion to which he came was this: if he ever
got another chance to run with the ball for Ridgley he would squeeze
that leather oval so hard that the thing would be in danger of bursting.
He resolved to make no apologies to Coach Murray, but to show by future
deeds that he could be trusted. When he went over to Lincoln Hall for
dinner he found the fellows at his table apparently unchanged in their
attitude toward him. They seemed to have forgotten that he had covered
himself with no glory.

While the soup was being disposed of some one who came in late brought a
bit of news that spread from table to table as if by magic. It seemed to
fly from one end of the room to the other and instantly it became the
topic of excited conversation. Everywhere it went it created looks of
dismay on the faces of the Ridgleyites, for there was a portentous
quality in it that boded bitter things for "the best school in the
world."

While Ridgley had been striving mightily to hold its own against Wilton
and had found its opponent so redoubtable that the tie score seemed to
be fully as much as it deserved--and perhaps a little more--Jefferson,
the big rival of Ridgley from time immemorial, had been winning the
laurels. Jefferson had trampled mercilessly upon Goodrich Academy and
with seeming ease had scored touchdown after touchdown. The final score
was 34-0 and herein lay the menace for Ridgley: only a week before,
Goodrich had defeated Wilton 7-0. If Goodrich were better than Wilton
and Wilton were as good as Ridgley, what chance did Ridgley stand
against Jefferson, which had apparently toyed with the Goodrich eleven
and scored at will? It was a problem that would seem to be answered
correctly only by three dismal words: None at all! A buzz of talk filled
the dining hall and every one knew that Ridgley was face to face with a
forlorn hope.

"Well, we'll have to fight," said Mr. Stevens, who sat at the head of
Teeny-bits' table, "and fight hard--it will never do to get
discouraged."

But discouragement is subtle; there was good need of something to
instill spirit into the Ri