come through the line, and Jimmy met him with all his force, and stopped him. But there had been a gain. Again Dutton came ramming through. This time the guard and tackle had opened a hole in the Second's line five feet wide, and Dutton had time to get up some speed before he reached Jimmy, who waited for him. It was a bigger gain this time.

"Come on," yelled the coach, dashing around from behind the attacking eleven. "This Second line isn't doing its work at all. Here you," indicating Jimmy, "don't wait for that back to come through on you, play up to the line, you've got to throw him back. Now again!"

This time the play slammed through the opposite side of the line for three yards to a first down.

"That's more like it now," encouraged Horton. "Show this school that you are good for something. Come on, a few more will take it across!"

This time Dixon sent his catapult at Jimmy's territory. But although the line opened wide enough to admit two like Dutton, Jimmy was in the breach. He sprang hard and low, and carried Dutton's legs right out from under him. It is needless to say that the ball stopped right there.

"Second down, four to go," called out the coach, not before he had ducked around behind Jimmy and hit him a slap on the back, at the same time giving him an encouraging "Good work, Freshman."

Having respect for the strength of that side of the secondary defense, the play was directed at the other side of center, and when the pile was untangled, the ball lay only a yard from first down, and less than two yards from the goal line.

"Now," yelled Chip Dixon, "we have 'em where we want 'em. Make it go and hang onto the ball, 22—36—19——"

"It's coming through center," yelled little Hopkinson, "back-up, center——"

"Change signals," shouted Chip, and then began to reel off a signal which he meant to have the effect of spreading out the defense, but the acute quarter, now playing close in, whispered to his backs: "It's a fake, it's a fake, the play's coming through center. Look out, look out——"

And through center it came with a vengeance, Dutton carrying the ball, crashing and grinding past the guard and tackle who had not been deceived by the trick of changing signals.

"Keep your feet, keep your feet," yelled Horton, dancing around near the end of the line.

Just when it looked like a certainty that Dutton had cleared the line, the two backs of the Second team, reinforced by the ends who had come around to help, threw themselves at the big back. Jimmy was underneath, and the big fellow came crashing to the ground; with a twist and a wriggling half turn he struck hard right across the goal line, and the ball popped from beneath his arm into plain view. In an instant there was a scramble, everyone within distance diving for the sphere without regard to danger of broken heads.

"The First has scored," said Frank. "Jimmy couldn't stop him, I guess."

"I don't know about that," said the Wee One. "Depends on who has that ball. It's the First's—no, it isn't," as the coach began to dig down among the tangle of arms and legs and heads. "No, it's the Second's, it is, by gravy." For when Horton had finally succeeded in getting to the bottom of the heap, there lay Jimmy just across the goal line, and underneath him, tucked up securely between his arms and his chin, was the ball.

How Jimmy had recovered the ball, no one knew, but there it was; and Jimmy himself wasn't able to tell if he had been asked, for when the pile was untangled Jimmy lay still. Horton slapped him on the back. "There, that's enough, let go of it now; great work, Freshman——" but there was no response, and then Horton turned him over on his back.

"Get the water bottle, quick," he cried. "This youngster's knocked out." In a moment they stretched Jimmy on the ground, opened his jacket and bathed his face with the water which had been hurriedly brought from the sidelines. A thin trickle of blood ran down from his matted hair, just above his forehead.

"Send for Patsy, the trainer, quick," commanded Horton, and some lively sprinting followed to the other end of the field where that individual was working over the twisted ankle of Harper.

Patsy Duffy came in hot haste, with his handbag of bandages, but by the time he had arrived on the scene, Jimmy opened his eyes.

"He's coming to all right. By Jove, Freshman, it was a fine piece of work," said Horton, as he gently nursed the head of the injured boy. "You'll be all right in a minute. If I had ten more like you we'd have a football team. There, can you walk?" he asked, as Jimmy struggled to his feet and started dizzily.

When he saw that Jimmy had been hurt, Frank sprang from the stand and came down the field, and now, eager to help, he slipped his arm under that of Jimmy, and with one of the players helped to steady him as he walked around. Duffy had already put a bandage around Jimmy's head to stop the flow of blood.

"I'm all right," said Jimmy. "Don't bother yourself about me. Someone bumped me over the eye with his knee, I think."

"That's all for to-day," said the coach. "I've got a word to say to you at the gymnasium," and he led the way in that direction, the players trooping after him in silence.

"Sorry he didn't break his blooming neck," muttered Chip to Harding as they trailed along. "I see he is a friend of that young Armstrong's."

"This probably means," said Harding, "that Horton will want to have Turner play one of the backs of the First team."

"I'll fix that all right. I'll make Turner look like the father of all the fumblers if Horton puts him behind the line with me."

"How's that?"

"Never you mind, but just watch out. Hillard and Dutton are both in our crowd, and we don't want any Freshman muts on the team. But don't you worry, there won't be any. I have my own plan, and the less you know about it, the better, for you're the captain, and you don't want to be accused more than you can help of playing favorites. Let me take care of it, and I'll show you how to put this young Turner in the shade."

By this time the gymnasium had been reached. Horton stood just inside the door to the main dressing room, and when the last straggler had entered, he shut the door and turned around to face his pupils of the gridiron.

"I want to tell you, young gentlemen," he said in a very quiet voice, "that if you continue to play football as you are playing it now, I might as well quit the job. You haven't improved since that disgraceful defeat by the Milton High School three weeks ago. The material is here but you haven't as much spirit as a sick cat. You do not get together. Once in a while you show what you could do if you would get together. No team can get together and do anything unless it is a team, every one helping every one else, doing his own work and giving the other fellow a hand when he needs it. If you don't get this spirit, Warwick will show you up worse than they did a year ago. You know very well what the trouble is," (he referred to the Society domination of football interests), "and you know the remedy. Captain Harding, you've got to play the best men on your squad. I'm going to have a long practice to-morrow, and I want you all to report at 4 o'clock sharp. That's all, good day," and Horton turned on his heel and left the gymnasium.

CHAPTER IV.FRANK HAS A NEW NAME.

It was a gloomy lot of football players that