figures that should make all plain.

"Ten minutes past three," muttered coach, thrusting all the papers
in his inside pocket and buttoning his coat. "Now, we'll have
to take a car and get up to the field on the jump."

"But, oh, the task of drilling all the new calls into the fellows
between now and Saturday afternoon!" groaned Dave Darrin, in a
tone that suggested real misery.

"We'll do it," retorted Captain Dick. "We've got to!"

"And to make the boys forget all the old calls, so that they won't
mix the signals!" muttered Dave disconsolately.

"We'll do it!"

It was Coach Morton who took up the refrain this time. And it
was Prescott who added:

"We've got to do it. Nothing is impossible, when one must!"

It was just twenty-five minutes past three when the coach and
his two younger companions turned around the corner of the athletic
grounds and slipped in through the gate.

Most of the fellows were in the dressing quarters.

Phin Drayne sat on the edge of a locker chest. One of his feet
lay across the knee of the other leg. He was in the act of unlacing