It was Dave Darrin who kicked the goal.  This ran the score up to six to nothing in Gridley’s favor.

It was the first scoring in a game that had begun by looking all bad for Gridley.

The Tottenville High School boys were bigger than the visitors and fully as speedy.

In fact, even now, to impartial observers, it looked as though these six points on the score had been won by what was little better than a fluke.

“Gridley can’t keep this up,” remarked the Tottenville boosters confidently.  “They’ll lose their wind and nerve against our fine line before the game is much older.”

The first half went out with score unchanged.  But Captain Wadleigh did heave a sigh of relief when the time keeper cut in on that first half.

“Fellows, look out for the fine points,” he warned his fellows, after they had trotted into quarters.  “It’ll be craft, not strong rush, that wins for us today, if anything does.”

“Prescott’s here.  He and Darrin can put anything over in the line of craft,” laughed Fred Ripley.

Ripley was in togs, but was not playing.  He was on the sub line, today, awaiting a call in case any player of his team became disabled.

“Darrin and Prescott are all right,” nodded Wadleigh gruffly.  “But they have endurance limits, like other human beings.  Don’t rely too much upon any two or three men, fellows.  Now, in the second half” –­here Wadleigh lowered his voice –­“I’m going to spare Prescott and Darrin all I can.  So you other fellows look out for hard work.”

Dick’s eyes were still flashing.  This was not from the fever of the game, but from the recollection of how narrowly he had escaped being tricked out of this chance to play today.

On his arrival, and while dressing before the game, Prescott had related to the team the mean trick that had been played upon him.  He had also told how the case came out in court.

“Dodge and Bayliss are traitors to the school!” cried Purcell indignantly.  “We’ll have to give ’em the silence!”

“Hear!  Hear!” cried several of the fellows.

This, in other words, meant that Dodge and Bayliss would be “sent to Coventry” –­shut out from all social contact with the school body during the remainder of the school year.

“I think I’m with you, fellows,” nodded Captain Wadleigh.  “However, remember that the football team can’t settle all school questions.  We’ll take this up when we get back to Gridley.”

In the second half it was not long before Gridley did go stale and tired.  But so, too, to the disgust of home boosters, did the Tottenville High School boys.

The game became a sheer test of endurance.  Gridley, under Wadleigh, played with a doggedness that made Tottenville put forth all its strength.

“Brace up, you lobsters,” growled Captain Grant of the home team, after the whistle had sounded on Tottenville’s “down” with the ball.  “Buck the simple Gridley youths.  Wade through their line as if you fellows were going to dinner half an hour late.  Don’t let them wind you, or stop you!”

Tottenville threw all its force into the following plays.  Surely, doggedly, the home boys forced the ball down the gridiron.  At last Gridley was forced to make a safety, thus scoring two points for their opponents.

“Don’t let that happen again, fellows,” urged Wadleigh anxiously.  “Fight for time, but don’t throw any two-spots away.”

“Rally, men!  Brace!  Crush ’em!” ordered Captain Grant.  “Seven minutes left!  We’ve got to score.”

These muttered orders caused a grim smile among the Tottenville High School boys, for the only way to tie the score would be to force Gridley to make two more safeties –­a hard thing to do against a crack eleven in seven minutes!

Dick and Dave Darrin were called into play as soon as the visitors had the ball in their own hands once more.

The “trick” signal sounded from quarter-back’s lips.

“One –­three –­seven –­eleven!”

There was instant, seemingly sly activity on the part of Gridley’s right wing.  Those from Gridley who stood on the grand stand thought that the coming play looked bad in advance.

“Why don’t they use Prescott again?” asked some one anxiously.  “He has been having a vacation.”

Then followed the snap-back.  Quarter-back started with the ball, and it looked as though he would dash for the right.

The quarter took one step, then wheeled like lightning, and rushed after Darrin, who already was in swift motion.

Gridley’s whole line switched for the left.

Tottenville found out the trick after the heaviest fellows in its line had started for Gridley’s right.

“Oh, Darrin –­sprint!  Oh, you Prescott!”

Truly the boosters were howling themselves hoarse.

There was frenzy on in an instant.

To the knowing among the watchers there was no chance for Gridley to rush down on the enemy’s goal line, but every yard –­every foot, now –­carried the pigskin just so much further from Gridley’s goal line.

Gridley’s interference rushed in solidly about Dave Darrin, as though to boost him through.

Dick seemed bent on beating down some of the formation surging against the visitors.

Just as the bunch “clumped” Dave Darrin went down.  There was a surge over him, and then Dick Prescott was seen racing as though for life.

There was no opposition left –­only Tottenville’s quarter-back and the fullback.

Tottenville’s quarter got after fleeting Dick too late, for the whole movement had been one of startling trickery.

One Tottenville halfback was too far away to make an obstructing dash in time.

In dodging the other halfback Dick dashed on as though not seeing the fellow.  This, however, was all trick.  Just in the nick of time Prescott, still holding the ball, ducked and dodged far to the left, getting around his man.

Tottenville’s fullback was now the sole hope of the home team.

Prescott, however, dodged that heavy fellow, also.

From the Gridley boosters on the grand stand went up a medley of yells that dinned in the young left end’s ears.  Panting, all but fainting, Dick was over the enemy’s goal line and he had the ball down.

When Dave had emerged from that fruitless clumping he had a broad grin on his face.  He saw that while Dick was not yet over the goal line, only the fullback was in the way and the fullback was no match for Dick in the matter of speed.

Then the yells told the rest.  Back came the ball.  Captain Wadleigh nodded to Dave to kick the goal.

Captain Grant looked utterly wild.  He had assured everyone in Tottenville who had asked him that the Gridley “come ons” would be eaten alive.  And here-----!

Dave made the kick.  After going down in that bunch Darrin was not at his best.  Body and nerves were tired.  He failed to kick the goal.

Hardly, however, had the two teams been started in a new line-up when the time keeper did his trick.  The game was over.

That last kick had failed, but who cared?  The score was eleven to two!

Ere the players could escape from the field the Gridley boosters were over on the gridiron.

Dick and Dave were bodily carried to dressing quarters.  Wadleigh, who had shown fine generalship in this stiff game was cheered until the boosters went hoarse.

“Gentlemen,” cried Coach Morton, raising his voice to its fullest carrying power as the dressing quarters filled, “it’s probably too early to brag, but I feel that we’ve got an old-fashioned Gridley eleven this year.”

“Ask Grant!”

“Ask anybody in Tottenville!”

The first yell was sent up by Ripley, the second by another substitute.

All the Gridley members of the team were excited at the close of this game.  Not even their weariness kept down their spirits.

Herr Schimmelpodt didn’t attempt to enter quarters.  He was now too much of a “sport” to attempt that.  But he stood just outside the door, vigorously mopping his shining, wet face.

There were two extra places in the German’s hired car.  Dave, of course, was asked to fill one of these, and Captain Wadleigh was invited to take the fifth seat.

More dejected than ever were Bert Dodge and his chum, Bayliss, as they slouched away from the grounds.  They did not attempt to invade the gridiron and join in the triumphal procession to quarters.

“You can’t seem to down that fellow Prescott,” muttered Bayliss, in disgust.  “Just as you think you’ve got him by the throat you find out that he’s sitting on your chest and pulling your hair.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” growled Dodge sulkily.  “He may have his weak spot, and it may be a very weak spot at that.”

The pair moped along until they reached the garage in which they had left the runabout.

Bayliss was standing near the doorway, while Bert inspected the machinery of the car.

“Pest!  Look out there,” muttered Bayliss, stepping back from the open doorway.

“What is it?” demanded Bert.  “Oh, I see!  Old Schimmelpodt brought the beggar Prescott over here in an auto.  That’s how the fellow managed to get into the game, after all.  Well, what of it all, anyway?”

“That car is running along slowly, and it has a full-sized crowd in it,” muttered Bayliss, going closer to his crony.  “Wadleigh, Prescott and Darrin –­and maybe the chauffeur is a thick friend of theirs.”

“What on earth are you driving at?” demanded Dodge, glancing up.

“Bert, I don’t believe I’m wholly stuck on the scheme of us driving back to Gridley.  There are too many lonely spots along the road.

“Do you think they’d assassinate us?” jeered Bert.

“I –­I think Wadleigh may have formed the notion of stopping us and giving us a thrashing,” responded Bayliss.

“Bosh!” snapped Dodge quickly.

Yet, none the less, he paused and looked thoughtful.

“There’s more than one road to Gridley, old fellow,” muttered Bert uneasily.  “You see Schimmelpodt and that mocker didn’t pass us on the way here.”

“But I think they’re likely to have guessed our road,” persisted Bayliss.  “There was an ugly look on Wadleigh’s face, too, as that car drove past here.”

“But old Schimmelpodt wouldn’t stand for anything disorderly and –­unlawful,” urged Bert.

“I don’t know about that,” retorted Bayliss significantly.  “That old German has gone crazy over High School sports.  He might stand in for ’most anything.  You know, he offered your Dad to give you a spanking this afternoon.”

The thought of Herr Schimmelpodt’s big and capable-looking hands caused Bert to shiver a bit uneasily.  Yet he didn’t want to admit that he was scared.  He glanced at his watch.

“We’ve time to catch the regular train back, I suppose, Bayliss.”

“Let’s do it, then,” begged the other.

“Will you pay a chauffeur to take this car home, then?”

“I’ll pay half,” volunteered Bayliss eagerly.

“All right, then; if you’re pretty near broke, we’ll divide the cost,” agreed Dodge.

An arrangement was easily made with the owner of the garage.  Then, the charges paid, this pair of cronies, who considered themselves much better than the usual run of High School boys, hurried over to the railway station.

The train was waiting by the time that the pair arrived.  Bert and Bayliss hastily purchased tickets, then boarded the handiest car.  The train proved to contain few people except the Gridley student body and boosters from that town.

“Here, what are you fellows doing in here?” angrily demanded Purcell, as the cronies entered one of the cars.

“We’re going to ride to Gridley, if you’ve no objections,” replied Bert, with sulky defiance.

“No, sir; not in this car!” declared Purcell promptly.  “Too many decent people here.  The cattle car for yours!”

“Oh, shut up!” retorted Dodge, trying to shove into a vacant seat.

But Purcell gripped him and pushed him back.

“No, siree!  Not in here!  The cattle car is your number.”

“We’ll pitch you off the train if you have the cheek to try to ride in this ear,” insisted Purcell.

High School boys, when off on a junket of this kind, are likely to be as wild as college boys.  A score of the Gridley youths now jumped up.  It looked as though there were going to be a riot.

“Oh, come on,” snarled Bayliss, plucking his crony’s sleeve.  “We don’t want to ride with this truck, anyway.”

Into the next car stamped the two young men, their faces red with anger and shame.

“Sneaks!” piped up some one.