Yardley entered the final stage of football that week with its customary enthusiasm and single-mindedness. There had been already two or three meetings in Assembly Hall, on the third floor of Oxford, for the purpose of practicing cheers and songs, but those gatherings paled into insignificance with Monday night’s affair and kept on paling as the last fortnight before the Broadwood game grew toward its end. There were mass meetings on Monday, Wednesday and Friday of that next to the last week, and at each successive meeting the cheering was heartier, the singing louder and the enthusiasm more intense. Every one who had anything to say—and some who hadn’t—addressed the students, the Musical Clubs played their best and if fervor counted in the final score, Broadwood, to quote Sid Creel, was “a gone coon!”

And on the two gridirons life was very strenuous indeed those six days. The First was looking toward the big game and nothing else, and the game with St. John’s Academy, which, contrary to custom, was to be played away from home, was viewed merely as an incident. New plays, not many in number but exacting of execution, which had purposely been held back until now, were being learned and the final touches were being laid on. Coach Lyle had two graduates to aid him during the last fortnight, and he needed them, for there were still weak spots in the Blue’s line-up.

The Second Team, too, went through a week of intensive work, both with a view to giving the First some good hard tussles and with her own second and last game in sight. She was to play Latimer High School on the First Team gridiron on Saturday, and, with the big team away, the contest was sure to draw a crowd and attain a semblance of importance, and the Second, not at all loath to enjoy the limelight for once, was resolved to make a good showing. Toby discovered suddenly on Tuesday that his triumph over Roy Frick had apparently been gained, for during three desperate and hard-fought periods against the First he remained at quarter while his rival graced the bench. And Toby did himself justice that afternoon if ever he had. To be sure the First Team smashed out a score in each period, but she had to work for each, and in the third twelve minutes the Second made a forty-six-yard advance from mid-field to the First’s five-yard line, where, foiled thrice in attempts at rushing, Toby tossed a short forward to Mawson, who fell across the goal-line for a glorious six points. Listening to the storm of reproach and accusation hurled at the First by their coaches, Toby almost regretted the triumph!

Toby was used hard in that game. It seemed that nothing could stop the opposing ends from getting down under punts, while anything in the shape of protection for the catcher was invariably lacking. That wild Tubb was the worst offender from Toby’s point of view. Tubb was forever rushing on him the instant the ball settled into his arms, and Tubb had learned to tackle now. Some of the hardest thumps Toby got that afternoon were due to Tubb. Then toward the last of the play, Toby got into a side-line mix-up and Jim Rose, who weighed close to two hundred, sat on his neck in a way that spelled discomfort then and afterwards. On the whole, although he had had a corking good time and was conscious of having deported himself rather well, Toby reached the gymnasium in a somewhat weak and battered condition and made no objection when Gyp removed him to the rubbing room and made him swallow something that tasted like ammonia and then did excruciating things to his neck for a good ten minutes. Even after that he didn’t feel awfully bright and chipper, and that night he fell asleep with his head pillowed on his French dictionary and slept beautifully until Arnold rudely awakened him and sternly sentenced him to bed.

The next afternoon, although he really felt as fit as ever, the assistant trainer cast one stern and penetrating look at him and ordered him off the field. “No work for you to-day, Tucker,” said Gyp. “And don’t stick around here, either. Go and play tennis or something easy. (Gyp was known to hold a supreme contempt for tennis!) Anyway, stay outdoors.”

“Can’t I watch practice?” asked Toby ingratiatingly.

“You cannot! Beat it now, like I tell you!”

So Toby “beat it” and went back to the gymnasium and donned “cits” and wandered down to the tennis courts and saw Horace Ramsey run away with a set from the formidable Colcord, one of the mainstays of the Tennis Team. Ramsey’s playing astonished Toby, and he said as much to that youth when, later, they walked back up the slope together.

“I’ve improved my playing a lot the last two weeks,” said Ramsey. “Some fellows don’t like cool weather for tennis, but I do. Maybe it’s because I’m heavier and hot weather gets me. I think I’ve got the knack of the back-hand stroke now. It worried me a lot at first. That’s the first time I ever got Colcord six-three, though. He wasn’t at his best to-day, I guess.”

“Heart troubling you much nowadays?” asked Toby slyly.

“Not a bit,” answered the other unsuspiciously. “I guess Mr. Bendix was right about it. He said, you know, that he couldn’t find anything wrong with it. Sometimes I think mother was too—too anxious and imagined a lot. You know how mothers are, Tucker.”

“Yes.” Toby nodded. “My mother used to be that way, too. She used to tell my father that I wasn’t strong enough to split wood, but dad never believed her. And somehow I split it and lived to tell the tale! How are you and Tubb getting along, Ramsey?”

“Getting along? Oh, fine. Why?”

“We-ell, just at first I thought I noticed a certain—er—coolness between you.”

“Really?” Ramsey looked mildly surprised. “I don’t remember that. I like George first rate. He used to be sort of touchy and—and gloomy, but he isn’t now. Maybe he was homesick. He’s doing great things on the football team, I hear.”

“Yes.” Toby unconsciously felt of a lame hip. “Yes, he certainly is!”

When Arnold came dragging himself in just before five he found his roommate putting in some much-needed licks on his Latin. “Your friend Tubbs——” began Arnold presently.

“Tubb, Arn, still Tubb,” corrected Toby patiently. “Minus the sibilant consonant.”

“Tubb, then. It’s a crazy name, anyway. What I was going to say was that your friend Tubb played a very nice game of football this afternoon.”

“So glad to hear it.”

“Yes.” Arnold chuckled. “And some one almost spoiled his fatal beauty. They say it was Roy Frick.”

“How? What did he do to him?” asked Toby anxiously.

“How I don’t know. I didn’t observe it. What was done was enough, though. Friend Tubb’s nose is all over his face. I suppose that in time, after Andy has worked it back into shape and hitched it there with plenty of plaster, it will resume its normal appearance, but at the present writing it’s—well, it’s a sight and a strong argument against the brutality of football!”

“Do you mean that Frick got him during play?”

“Well, it doesn’t look like play, but maybe it was!”

“You know what I mean, you seven-ply idiot! Did they have a scrap, or what?”

“Oh, it was during the course of the gentlemanly encounter between friends that we staged down there this afternoon. Honest, Toby, it’s a wonder any one escaped without losing an ear or a jawbone or something, the way those coaches drove us to-day! They were positively blood-thirsty! That long-legged guy who’s coaching the guards and tackles——”

“Did Tubb try to get back at him?”

“At Frick? No, not that I know of. Maybe he has by now. Maybe, though, it wasn’t Frick who plugged him. I only heard some one say so afterwards; Casement I think.”

“It was Frick, I’ll wager,” said Toby. “Hang him, I wish he’d behave himself until the season’s over. Tubb’s crazy to fight him, and I’m afraid he will, and if he does some one will get on to it and he will get the dickens.”

“That’s no joke,” agreed Arnold. “You’d better give him a tip to keep quiet until after we’ve licked Broadwood. It wouldn’t do to lose as good a chap as Tubb. I heard, by the way, that Frick and a couple of other fellows had a mix-up with some of the mill toughs the other night; Saturday I think it was; and that Frick, for once, got the short end of it. Too bad they didn’t cure him!”

“Guess I’ll run up and see him after supper,” said Toby thoughtfully.

“Frick?” asked Arnold innocently.

“If I did I’d give him a good lesson,” answered Toby grimly. “No, Tubb. I made him sort of promise to be good, but if Frick’s gone and pasted him again——” Toby shook his head lugubriously.

Arnold laughed. “Think his patience may wear thin after awhile, eh? Well, I can’t say I’d blame him if it did. Still, he mustn’t be allowed to get in wrong with faculty just yet. Go on up and read the riot-act to him, old thing. By the bye, what happened to you this afternoon? What kep ye?”

“Gyp,” said Toby. “He wouldn’t let me on. Said I was to play tennis instead!”

“I thought that might be it. Well, I missed your smiling countenance and cheerful voice. So did your team, I guess. They didn’t begin to play the way they did yesterday. Did you play tennis?”

“Not likely! To tell the gospel truth, Arn, I guess I wouldn’t have been much good to-day. I felt all right until Gyp told me I didn’t, though. That’s funny, isn’t it?”

“Not at all, not at all. Power of suggestion, T. Tucker. Recognized psychological phenomenon. When do we eat?”

Toby was surprised as well as embarrassed on reaching training table that evening by the interest displayed in his welfare by his teammates. It seemed that every one, with the possible exception of Roy Frick, was eager and anxious to have his absence from practice satisfactorily explained. Toby was somehow glad that Coach Burtis had not yet reached the table, for the coach had a kindly but amused smile that made Toby feel silly, and Toby was feeling silly enough as it was. Just at first he thought the fellows were having fun with him, but their relief at discovering that it was merely a lay-off that had kept him away was too genuine to be mistaken.

“Well, Gyp has good sense,” commented Farquhar approvingly. “The First certainly laid for you yesterday, Tucker, and I could see that you were pretty well flattened out afterwards. Feeling all right now?”

“Fine, thanks. Somebody pass the milk, please.”

“Atta boy, Tucker!” said Nelson from across the board. “Don’t forget Saturday. We’re going to need you, son!”

Toby saw Lovett glance toward Frick and exchange an amused glance with Grover Beech, and wished Nelson had more tact, and nearly choked drinking the milk with which Mawson had filled his glass. Then Mr. Burtis came and asked Toby if his lay-off had straightened him out, and again he said he was feeling fine, thanks, and after that some one mercifully turned the conversation.

When supper was over he went in search of George Tubb. He had seen Tubb leave the First Team table and took it for granted that he had gone up to his room. But a knock on the portal of Number 31 elicited no response and, on pushing the door open, the room proved to be dark and empty. So he went down to Number 12, lighted up, got his books together and started on some geometry problems that promised to give him trouble. But the first one proved less awful than he anticipated and so he went on to the second, and when he remembered George Tubb again it was nearly nine. Arnold had not yet returned from a conference at the gymnasium. Toby pushed his papers away, viewing the result of his labors approvingly, and went back to the third floor. This time a light showed from Number 31 and he found the room tenanted, but only by Horace Ramsey.

“Where’s Tubb?” asked Toby.

“Haven’t seen him since before supper,” replied Horace, with a sigh as he leaned back from his studying and stretched his arms overhead. “I don’t think he’s been back here since he went down. I only came in about half an hour ago, though. Want to see him? He may be over in Dudley. He and a fellow named Dunphy are sort of thick. I don’t know the number.”

“I’ll wait a few minutes if I’m not keeping you from studying. Maybe he will be in.”

“Glad to have you,” replied Horace eagerly. “Try the big chair. It’s all right if you don’t lean back too hard. Did you hear about the wallop Tubb got this afternoon?”

“Yes, Deering told me about it. Does he think Frick did it?”

“He says he knows he did! You ought to have heard him go on about it!” Horace chuckled. “Gee, he was mad!”

“You don’t suppose he’s—he’s looking for Frick now, do you?”

“By Jove! I wonder if he is! No, I don’t think so, though. He had sort of cooled down by supper time. He looked like a South Sea pirate, Tucker. They plastered his face all over and it hurt him to talk, I guess. Not that that kept him quiet, though!”

“Well, I wish I knew for sure——” muttered Toby. “If he gets to scrapping with Frick and faculty learns of it——”

“I don’t believe he will, honest. He said something about that, something about wishing football was over so he could show Frick a good time.”

Toby remained a half-hour longer, during which conversation touched on many subjects, and then, as he was leaving, Tubb appeared. He seemed in unusually good spirits and greeted the visitor almost boisterously, and wouldn’t hear of Toby’s departing yet. “I’ve been over to Dudley seeing a fellow named Dunphy,” he explained. “Know him?”

“A little,” said Toby. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, that?” Tubb held up his left hand and looked at a bleeding knuckle. “Why, I barked it against the corner of Dudley. It was sort of dark and I tried to turn too soon. Struck it against the stone, I guess. It’s just a scratch.”

“You keep on,” observed Ramsey dryly, “and your folks won’t know you! Isn’t he a picture, Tucker?”

Toby assented unsmilingly. Tubb did look fairly disreputable, for white surgeon’s tape crossed and recrossed his nose over a pad of gauze and gave him a peculiarly villainous appearance.

“Suppose you heard about this?” asked Tubb significantly, touching the wounded member gingerly. Toby nodded. “That’s our friend Frick again. It’s all right, though. Just one more little favor to return.”

“Seen him since?” asked Toby carelessly.

“Only at a respectable and safe distance,” replied Tubb, smiling. He looked and sounded truthful, but Toby gave another look at the bleeding knuckle and doubted.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “I hope you’ll keep away from him, Tubb. You know we sort of decided you would.”

“Yes, I know. That’s all right. Friend Frick can wait. I’m in no hurry. I was afraid that I might forget about him by the time there was any comeback, but now, after this little memento, there’s no danger of it!”

Presently Toby left, wondering whether Tubb was telling the truth or was ashamed to confess that he had taken revenge on his enemy. Certainly, it was quite possible to skin one’s knuckle by hitting it against the rough stone trimming of one of the buildings, but somehow Toby didn’t quite believe that Tubb had acquired his injury that way!