a seat on the grand stand, but it was no fault of the gate tenders.

Drayne had spent some of his spare money at the costumer's. With
his trim, rather slim figure Phin Drayne made up rather well as
a girl. He wore black---mourning throughout, perhaps in memory
of his departed honor---and a heavy veil covered his face. In
this disguise Drayne sat where he could see what would happen.

At the outset it was Gridley's kick off, and for the next ten
minutes Tottenville had the ball, fighting stubbornly with it.
But at last, when forced half way down the field between center
and its own goal line, Gridley blocked so well in the three following
plays that the pigskin came to the home eleven.

Dick bent over, holding the ball for the snapback, while his battle
front formed on each side of him.

Dave Darrin, quarter-back, raced back a few steps, then halted,
looking keenly, swiftly over the field.

Phin Drayne drew his breath sharply. Then his heart almost stopped
beating as he listened.

"Thirty-eight---nine---eleven---four!" sounded Darrin's voice,
sharp and clear.

"That's the run around the left end!" throbbed Phin Drayne.

But it wasn't. A fake kick, followed by a cyclonic impact at
the right followed.