The ball was in flight again, and once more the ends were speeding
across under it. "Mine!" cried Neil. Then the leather was against his
breast and he was dodging forward, Paul ahead of him to bowl over
opposing players, and Pearse, a full-back candidate, plunging along
beside. One--two--three of the ends were passed, and the ball had been
run back ten yards. Then Stone, last year's varsity left end, fooled
Paul, and getting inside him, nailed Neil by the hips.

"Well tackled, Stone," called Mills. "Gale, you were asleep, man; Stone
ought never to have got through there. Fletcher, you're going to lose
the ball some time when you need it badly if you don't catch better than
that. Never reach up for it; remember that your opponent can't tackle
you until you've touched it; wait until it hits against your stomach,
and then grip it hard. If you take it in the air it's an easy stunt for
an opponent to knock it out of your hands; but if you've got it hugged
against your body it won't matter how hard you're thrown, the ball's
yours for keeps. Bear that in mind."

On the next kick Neil called to Gale to take the pigskin. Paul misjudged
it, and was forced to turn and run back. He missed the catch, a
difficult one under the circumstances, and also missed the rebound. By
this time the opposing ends were down on him. The ball trickled across
the running track, and Paul stooped to pick it up. But Stone was ahead
of him, and seizing the pigskin, was off for what would have been a
touch-down had it been in a game.

"What's the matter, Gale?" cried Mills angrily. "Why didn't you fall on
that ball?"

"It was on the cinders," answered Paul, in evident surprise. Mills made