one of the sections, he looked busily through, then came back
with a paper in his hand.

"I think I know whom you both suspect," began coach.

"Phin Drayne," spoke Dick, without hesitation.

"Yes. Well here is Drayne's recent examination paper in modern
literature. It is, of course, in his own handwriting."

Eagerly the two football men and their coach bent over to compare
Drayne's handwriting with that on the envelope that had come back
from Milton.

"There has been an attempt at disguise," announced Mr. Morton,
using a magnifying glass over the two specimens of writing. "Yet
I am rather sure, in my own mind, that a handwriting expert would
pronounce both specimens to have been written by the same hand."

"We've nailed Drayne, then," muttered Darrin vengefully.

"It looks like it," assented Mr. Morton. "However, we'll go slowly.
For the present I'll put this examination paper with our other
'exhibits' and secure them all carefully in my inside pocket.
Now, then, let us make our pencils fly for a while in getting
up a revised code of signals."

It was not a long task after all. From the two typewritten copies
Dick copied the first half of the plays, Dave the latter. Then
Coach Morton went over the new sheets, rapidly jotting down new