It was a rejuvenated team that met Oak Grove Academy the following afternoon. I don’t mean that it played faultless football, for it didn’t, but it had certainly come back wonderfully, and the School, looking on, marveled and perked up and, toward the end of the game, regained its old confidence and belief. It might have been argued that Oak Grove was, after all, not a very strong opponent, but that argument would have been wasted. Besides, while Oak Grove doubtless did show herself weak in one or two departments, it was still true that she had passed through a successful season, sustaining but one defeat, and that two weeks before she had held Kenly to a 6 to 9 score.

It was the first full-period game of the season, and the sixty minutes of actual playing time was filled with excitement and, from an Alton point of view at least, pleasure. From the third or fourth minute of the contest, when Oak Grove fumbled on her forty yards and watched Putney gobble up the ball and streak down the field for a touchdown, to the last twilighted moments when, her back to her goal, Alton, her line holding many substitutes, repelled the frenzied attacks of the enemy and finally punted out of danger, the interest never flagged. Jimmy stood eight yards behind the goal-line when he sent the ball corkscrewing away into the gathering gloom, and even as it fell into the anxious hands of the enemy quarter-back the last whistle sounded. The score at the end was 21 to 6.

Ned Richards gained new fame that day, not by spectacular dashes, but by the truly remarkable manner in which he ran the team. There were weak places in the line, there were faults of performance all through, but the generalship was of the best. Ned was steady in his catching of punts, too, and once or twice gained ground for his side, but it was as a commander of men and a strategist that Ned excelled. There were other heroes beside Ned, though none were really outstanding. Perhaps when all is said and done Jimmy deserved as much credit as any other player in the last two periods. He entered the game when the third quarter was a few minutes old and when, with the game secure by an 18 to 3 score, it was thought best to kick rather than rush. Jimmy surprised his audience, perhaps even Jimmy, by the length of his punts and the direction of them. Nothing hurried him or seemed to fluster him. Time and again the ball escaped the upthrust hands of the charging enemy by an apparent miracle. But escape it always did. Jimmy had no kicks blocked.

Harmon, at left half, Browne, at full-back, Nichols, at center, and Rowlandson, at left guard, played top-notch football. Captain Proctor was, as always, good, although to-day he was far from at his best. The Alton ends were not up to the rest of the forwards, and the right of the line, especially after Raleigh had replaced Stimson at guard, was decidedly weak. Tackling was not of the best, the team was penalized far too often and there were times when even Ned’s most frantic efforts failed to speed up the players. But the old fight was back again, the old will to win, and that brought victory. And victory brought joy to the School.

Even in the sudden turn from pessimism to cheerfulness, Alton did not, however, swing to the extreme. No one, perhaps, yet looked for a conclusive victory over Kenly Hall next week. Many predicted a tie, some a triumph by a few points—perhaps a goal after touchdown or even a goal from the field. But the main thing was that the Gray-and-Gold had shown that afternoon that, come what might, she was not to be trampled on; that, victor or vanquished, she would uphold the honor of Alton and its proud traditions. So the student body took hope, and high spirits reigned. If Alton was not destined to win, at best the enemy’s triumph was to be insignificant. That the School should find reason for rejoicing on so slight an excuse was, when one considered it, strange, for a preponderance of victories during recent years had endowed Alton with a perhaps excusable arrogance. A more disinterested philosopher than any of our characters might have told himself that a defeat for the Gray-and-Gold would possibly prove an unpalatable but beneficial medicine!

Naturally enough a certain restraint existed between the roommates in Number 27 Upton subsequent to Stick Patterson’s ultimatum. In spite of being quite convinced that he was acting within his rights, Stick was uncomfortable and showed it by acting in an unusually care-free and careless manner which fooled neither him nor Russell. On his part, Russell, recognizing his friend’s privilege of selling his interest as he had indicated, tried to feel no sense of injury, failed and was unnaturally polite and awkward in Stick’s presence. It was a relief to both when either could avail himself of an excuse to get away. Fortunately for Russell football affairs took precedence over all else during the next few days. The Best Second Team in the History of Alton Academy was finishing its career at full steam, and Russell was steaming with it. Monday and Tuesday saw battles royal between the first and the scrub. Wednesday’s meeting was less ferocious, since then the second was used as a battering ram and, given the ball time and again on the first team’s ten yards, was instructed to carry it over. That success came but once, and then with the aid of a half-distance penalty, spoke well for the big team’s reviving defense. Work was interrupted frequently while coaches explained and corrected, and under such circumstances the old fury of battle was sadly wanting. Thursday, though, contrary to established custom, saw one final, glorious struggle. The second, knowing that it was the last, offered life and limb and fought as never before. More than once Coach Cade was forced to intervene and caution in the interest of his charges and Coach Gaston was obliged, unwillingly it appeared, to echo the remonstrance. That was a fine and fitting finish for the second, for although the first scored a touchdown and kicked a field-goal, the scrub team took the ball away from the enemy on the latter’s forty-two yards and, growling and snarling, plunged and twisted, battered and hammered her way across nine almost obliterated white lines and set the pigskin behind the first team’s goal. That march was epic. Friendship was forgotten and no mercy was asked nor shown. Behind the retreating, amazed first team line Coach Cade barked passionate entreaties. In the wake of the second Steve Gaston, an unholy light of triumph on his lean face, roared hoarsely.

“Fight! Fight! FIGHT!” urged Steve. “Six yards more! You can do it, Second! Take it over! It’s your last chance! Don’t quit now! Smash them! Smear them! Fight, Second.”

To the cries of the coaches were added the panting expostulations, appeals, commands of the quarterbacks and captains and the hoarse clamors of the players. Wells, of the second, had found his old eloquence once more and his voice sounded well above the bedlam. “Yah! Try that again, you mutton-face! Come on, Second! Tear ’em up! Look out, you yellow curs, we’re coming through! Yah!”

And then red-headed Reilly was flat on the yellowing sod, his legs in their torn gray hose inside the field but his body in its sweat-stained jacket well over and the pigskin nestled beneath him in a grip that would have resisted wild horses! No goal was kicked, none attempted. The last scrimmage was over. Friend and foe faced each other, panting, glaring, growling. A hushed moment passed. Then tense faces relaxed. The second swarmed together and beat each other’s backs and turned somersaults with the last ounce of remaining strength, shouted with what breath was left in their well-nigh empty lungs, and the first looked on with understanding at least. A few grins made their appearance, gruesome efforts, maybe, on dirt-marked and sometimes battered countenances. Then Captain Proctor, leaning heavily on Rowlandson’s big shoulder, lifted a tired voice.

“Regular ... cheer ... for the ... Second ... fellows!... All together! Come on!”

And the second, grouping themselves about Captain Falls, came back heartily, and their season was over, the duties finished, their rest at hand!

But that was on Thursday, and before it happened other events had occurred which must be set down here. It was Tuesday night that Jimmy appeared hurriedly at Number 27 and, since Stick was seated across the table from Russell, decoyed the latter into the corridor and thence downstairs to a corner of the recreation room.

“Look here,” he began when they were seated, “there may not be anything in this, but I thought I’d better tell you. You know that fellow Throgmorton? Well, I’ve just discovered that he and Billy Crocker are as thick as thieves. I happened to see them together in the village this morning. They went into the drug store across the street. Had drinks, I suppose. Then I asked Stimson this evening at table; he rooms in the same corridor with Throgmorton; and Stimson says those two are great pals. Crocker’s at Throgmorton’s room half the time.”

Russell stared blankly. “You mean—”

“Well, what do you think? Here’s this old geezer, Crocker, trying to put you out of business. Patterson gets an offer for his interest from Throgmorton. Throgmorton is young Crocker’s pal. Smell a rat?”

Russell nodded. “Still,” he said, “I don’t see—why, even if Throgmorton bought Stick out—”

“Why, he’d sell to old Crocker again the next minute! Throgmorton doesn’t want to buy in for himself. I don’t believe he’s got any hundred and fifty to his name. Billy Crocker has probably arranged the whole transaction. He picked on Throgmorton because Throgmorton wouldn’t arouse suspicion and you wouldn’t dream that old man Crocker was behind him. But Billy made the silly mistake of letting me see them together; and that got me thinking.”

“I guess you’re right,” agreed Russell dejectedly. “Although even if Mr. Crocker owns a minority interest he can’t do much damage, can he? I’ve still got the say about things. I don’t mean that it would be very pleasant—”

“Wake up, son! How long do you suppose you’d keep on doing business if old Crocker wanted to close you up? He’d find plenty of ways to put the store on the blink. No, sir, it won’t do, Rus, and you’ve got to find some way of fooling ’em.”

“You’re right, Jimmy. Well, I don’t believe that Stick will sell to Throgmorton when I tell him this. He’s a pretty decent sort, after all. He will be disappointed—”

Jimmy laughed incredulously. “Why, you silly chump, Stick Patterson does know! At least, I’m pretty sure he does. I’ll bet he and old Crocker fixed it up between them.”

“Oh, no, I don’t believe that,” Russell expostulated. “I don’t believe Stick has ever even spoken with Mr. Crocker.”

Jimmy looked puzzled. “Hasn’t spoken to him? Why, how about that time when Crocker was in the store? Saturday before last, wasn’t it?”

Russell looked blank. “Saturday? You mean that Mr. Crocker was in our store and talked to Stick? Are you sure?”

“Of course. J. Warren told me. Said the old guy was there half an hour or more talking with Patterson. He couldn’t tell what they were talking about, but he said it looked like something important. I thought of course Patterson had told you.”

Russell shook his head. “He didn’t say a word about it,” he replied soberly. He was silent a moment. Then, “I wouldn’t have thought it of Stick,” he sighed.

“I don’t know that I would,” said Jimmy. “He doesn’t seem quite such a cut-throat as that. But it certainly looks—”

“Yes, I guess he fixed it up with Mr. Crocker. Well, if he did there isn’t anything I can do. There’s no use asking him not to sell.”

“Of course not. Now I’ve been mulling it over ever since I talked with Stimson. What you want to do is buy out Stick yourself.”

“Yes, but I can’t. I don’t dare take enough money out of the bank, Jimmy. It would leave me flat, and—”

“Wait a sec! What about Patterson? Will he give you until to-morrow noon, say?”

“Oh, yes, I think so. He said I could have until Wednesday to buy him out. To-morrow’s Wednesday, isn’t it?”

“Yes, if it doesn’t rain. Now listen. Here’s a proposition. I haven’t worked it out yet, but— Look, Rus! You see Patterson right away and make him agree not to sell until twelve to-morrow. By that time you’ll have the money.”

“I’ll have the money,” agreed Russell. “Of course. Some one’s going to die and leave it to me, I suppose.”

“Shut up! I’ll get it for you. Listen, idiot.” Jimmy dropped his voice another note, although the nearest person was a small boy half the length of the long room away. “I’ll jump the ten-twenty train to-night. That’ll get me to New York at twelve-forty. I’ll put up at a hotel and be downtown at nine in the morning. Dad always gets to his office at ten past. That’ll give me thirty-six minutes to see him and get the nine-forty-six back. That gets here at eleven-thirty-three. I’ll take a carriage—”

“Are you crazy?” interrupted Russell.

Jimmy chuckled. “Not a bit. It’s a cinch. You stall Patterson off until twelve—”

“But your father isn’t going to let you have a hundred and twenty-five dollars for a crazy business like this!”

“Oh, yes, he is. He’s a good sort, dad is. I can get a check from him and make that express easy.”

“But, Jimmy, you’re sick in the head! A hundred and twenty-five dollars is a lot of money. Even if your father happened to have that much to spare right now he wouldn’t—”

“Huh?” Jimmy looked surprised. “To spare? Oh, I see.” He grinned then. “Rus, you don’t happen to know who my dad is, do you?” Russell shook his head. “He’s Austen of Austen and Cooper.”

“Is he?” asked Russell, unimpressed.

“Oh, gee,” laughed Jimmy, “you’re no New Yorker, are you? Well, Austen and Cooper are a couple of disgustingly wealthy old men, Rus. That’s enough for them. Anyway, dad is pretty sure to be able to dig up a hundred and twenty-five, and he will let me have it, all right, when I tell him what it’s for.”

“Oh!” said Russell. “But, look here, Jimmy, I couldn’t take a loan of that size!”

“Why not? Oh, very well, we won’t argue about that. I’ll buy Patterson’s interest from you as soon as you get it from him. That is if you don’t object to me as a partner. Of course I wouldn’t be a very active partner after next June, but we could make some arrangement that would be fair to you. The main thing now is—”

“But have you got permission to go to New York?” interrupted Russell.

Jimmy grinned and shook his head. “Permission? I couldn’t get it if I tried, you idiot. And I’ve no notion of trying. No, what I do is just unostentatiously walk away about half-past nine. No one’s going to know anything about it. I’ll have to cut chapel and two classes in the morning, but I’ve been a pretty good boy so far this term and that’ll be all right. I’ll be around for dinner and no one need know I’ve been away.”

“I don’t like it,” protested Russell. “Suppose Coach Cade got wind of it?”

Jimmy sobered perceptibly and then shrugged. “Let’s not be Glooms,” he said, grinning. “Of course there’s a slight risk, but the end excuses the means, or whatever the saying is. What time is it now?” He looked at his watch.

“Never you mind what time it is,” said Russell firmly. “You’re not going to do it, Jimmy. It’s corking of you to want to, and all that, and I’m awfully much obliged to you, but you’re staying right here.”

“Nonsense!”

“Yes, you are! Look here, Jimmy. If Mr. Cade ever found out you know what would happen. You’d be dumped off the team in a minute. No matter if you were the mainstay of it, the only fellow who could win us a victory over Kenly, you’d go just the same. You know that. You know Johnny Cade well enough. Isn’t it so?”

“Possibly, but he isn’t going to know.”

“Yes, he is.”

“How?”

“I shall tell him.”

They eyed each other straightly for a moment. Then:

“You mean that?” asked Jimmy.

“Yes.”

Jimmy shrugged. “All right. That’s that. Only thing left to do is telegraph.”

“How about telephoning?”

“No good. I thought of that. This is Tuesday and dad will be in town. I’ll send a wire to the office, but I don’t believe the money will get here in time. I’ll try it, though. I’ll ask him to telegraph it. Now let’s see.” Jimmy crossed to a writing table and brought back a sheet of paper. While he frowned and wrote, erased and rewrote Russell fell into thought. He didn’t really believe that Jimmy would get the money, and he sought in his mind for some other way out of the dilemma. He had said that there would be nothing gained by an appeal to Stick, and yet perhaps he was wrong. At least, he would try the appeal. In spite of some faults, Stick had heretofore always acted straight. Russell’s cogitations were interrupted by Jimmy, who thrust the written message in a pocket and got to his feet.

“I’ll cut across to the telegraph office and get this off,” Jimmy announced. “Come along?”

Russell shook his head. “I guess not. I think I’ll have a talk with Stick.”

“We-ell, all right. Going to the cheer meeting?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“See you in the morning, anyway. Don’t forget to get Patterson to hold off until twelve to-morrow; later, if he’s willing. And keep your head up, Rus. We’ll pull it off all right.”