"Great protection for a cripple," the student thought, as he locked
the money box. "How strong a baby's hand may be sometimes!
Vic Burleigh's beef can win the game out there, but Bug has
saved the day at this end of the line. That tramp seemed scared
at the sight of him."

"Funny folks turns to dames," Bug observed.

"Yes, Buggie, the last one in before you came was a young
woman with gray hair, and she had a big dog with her.
They don't let in dogs, so he's waiting outside somewhere."

The last man who did not go in was Bond Saxon, who came
late and found the gates deserted. But lying watchful
in the open way, was a Great Dane dog. Old Bond hesitated.
It was his lifetime fault to hesitate. Then he trotted back home.
And, behold, a bottle of whisky was beside his doorstep.
But to his credit for once, he resisted and smashed the bottle
to bits on the stone step.

The day was made for such a game. There was no wind.
The glare of the sun was tempered by a gray mist creeping up
the afternoon skies. The air was crisp enough to prevent languor.
The crowded bleachers were inspiring; the season was rounding out
in a blaze of glory for Sunrise. The two teams were evenly matched,
And the stern joy that warriors feel
In foemen worthy of their steel,
spurred each to its best efforts. It was a battle royal,
with all the turns of strategy, and quickness, and straight
physical weight, and sudden shifting of signals, fake plays,