Dave Darrin glanced covertly, though anxiously, at his chum.

Was Dick really unfit to play?  Dave wondered.

It was not that Prescott had actually failed in any quick bit of individual or team play that he had been signaled to perform.  But Darrin wondered if Dick could really be anything like up to the mark.

During the interval Captain Wadleigh went quietly among his men, murmuring a word of counsel here and there.

Nothing in Wadleigh’s face or tone betrayed worry; intense earnestness alone was stamped on his bearing.

“Now, remember, fellows, don’t get a spirit of defense grafted on you,” were Wadleigh’s last words before the second half began.  “Remember, its to be a general assault all the time.  If you get on the defensive nothing can save us from losing.”

No sooner was the ball in motion than Gridley’s line bore down upon the enemy.  So determined was the assault that Filmore found itself obliged to give ground, stubbornly, for a while.  Yet Captain Pike’s men were not made of stuff that is easily whipped.  After the first five minutes Pike’s men got the ball and began to drive it a few yards, and then a few yards more, over into Gridley’s territory.

As the minutes slipped by the ball went nearer and nearer to Gridley’s goal line.  Another touchdown must soon result.

Twice Pike tried to throw the ball around the left end.  Wadleigh, Hudson, Darrin and Prescott, backed by quarter and left half, presented such a stubborn block that the ball did not get another yard clown the field in two plays.  But Pike, who was a hammerer, made a third attempt around that left end.  This time he gained but two feet, and the ball passed to Gridley.

Of course, after having had its left wing so badly haltered Gridley was bound to try to work the ball through Filmore’s right.  As Wadleigh’s signals crisped out, the Gridley players threw themselves out for a play to right.

Quarter received the ball, starting fiercely to the right.  Left half dashed past quarter, receiving the ball and carrying it straight to Dick Prescott.  For a moment this blind succeeded so admirably, that even those on the grand stand did not see the ball given to Prescott, but believed that quarter was rushing the ball over to the right.

Then, like a flash, the trick dawned.

Dick Prescott had the oval, and was running with it like a whirlwind, with Darrin and Hudson as his interference, and with quarter dashing close behind them.

Dick sprinted around the first Filmore man, leaving his interference to sweep the fellows over.

At Filmore’s second attempt to tackle, Dick ducked low and escaped.  In the next instant the would-be tackler was bowled over by Darrin and Hudson, and Dick swept on with the ball.

By this time all the home boosters were on their feet, yelling like so many Comanches.

Filmore’s half and full contrived a trap that caught young Prescott, and carried him down with the ball –­but this happened at Filmore’s forty-five-yard line!

In the next play, Dave had the ball, on a short pass, but with Dick dashing along close to his side, and Hudson on the other flank.  Before Darrin went down on the ball it had been carried to Filmore’s thirty-yard line.  Then it went beyond the twenty-five-yard line, and Gridley still carried the pigskin.

“Dick’s coming up, all right,” proudly muttered Darrin to Hudson, while the next snapback was forming.

“It’s putting nerve into all of us,” rejoined Hudson.

The pigskin was only fourteen yards from the Filmore goal line when Captain Wadleigh’s men had to see the ball go to Filmore.  Pike’s men, however, failed to make good on downs, so the oval came back into Wadleigh’s possession.

Now, the play was swift and brilliant.  Dick got the ball around the left end once, and afterwards assisted Dave to put it through the hostile line.  With the third play Dick carried the pigskin barely across Filmore’s goal line and scored a touchdown.  Darrin immediately after made a kick for goal.

The score now stood eight to six for Filmore but only ten minutes of playing time remained.

“Our fellows have saved a whitewash, and that’s all,” reflected Drayne.  “They’d have done better with me, and I guess Wadleigh knows it by this time.”

“Slug’s the word,” Pike passed around, swiftly.  “No fouling, but use your weight, dash and speed.  Slam these Gridley rubes.  Hammer em!”

“Come on, now Gridley!” rang the imploring request from the home boosters, who were now too restless to keep to their seats.

“Remember your record so far this season!”

“Forceful playing, but keep cool.  Use your Judgment to the last, and put a lot of speed and doggedness behind your science,” was Wadleigh’s adjuration.

Those who followed form most close, now had their eyes on young Prescott.

If he went to pieces that would leave Gridley weak at what had usually been its strongest point, especially in attack.

And Gridley had the ball again.  But what ailed Captain Wadleigh, the boosters wondered?  For he was now sending the ball to the right wing, as if admitting that Prescott must not be worked too hard.

“Use Prescott!” shouted one man hoarsely.

“Prescott!  Prescott!”

“Yah!  Dot’s all right.  Vot you t’ink Wadleigh has ein head for’ Leafe him und Bresgott alone, and dey hand you der game a minute in!” bawled the deep bass voice of Herr Schimmelpodt who, nearly alone of the Gridley boosters, believed that the home team needed no grand stand coaching.

“But they’ve only eight minutes left,” grumbled the man sitting to the left of Herr Schimmelpodt.

“Yah!  Dot’s all right, too,” retorted the German.  “Battles haf been won in less than eight minutes.  Read history!”

In two plays Captain Wadleigh had succeeded in advancing the pigskin less than two yards down the Filmore territory.

But now hats were thrown up in the air, and frantic yells resounded when it was discovered that Dick had the ball again, and that Darrin, Hudson, Wadleigh, quarter and left half were fighting valiantly to push him through the stubborn, panting line of Filmore High School.

It was a splendid fight, but a losing one.  Filmore was massing all its weight, wind and brawn, and Gridley lost the ball on downs.

An involuntary groan went up from the Gridley spectators.

Five and a half minutes left, and the ball in the enemy’s hands!  That settled the game.

The musicians looked at their leader, before taking the music from their instrument racks.

“Keep your music on,” called the leader.  “We of Gridley are sportsmen enough to play the victors off the field.”

The play was quicker and snappier than ever.  All the young men on both sides were using their last reserves of strength and wind.  Pike was making a ferocious effort to get the ball back and over Gridley’s goal line.

But Pike lost, after three plays, and Wadleigh’s men again grabbed the pigskin.

“Barely two minutes!” groaned the Gridley spectators, watches in hand.

Dick was seen glancing at Wadleigh and shaking his head almost imperceptibly.  But a hundred people on the grand stand saw that tiny shake, and, most of all, Pike took it in.

Wadleigh, before bending low over the ball held up thumb and forefinger of his right hand, formed in a circle, for a brief instant.  That sign meant: 

“Emergency signal code!”

Then he bent over to snap the ball back, and the figures that shot from quarter-back’s chest carried different values from those that any enemy could guess.

“Eight –­eleven –­four –­ten!”

Then the ball went back to quarter, who started from a crouch without straightening up.

Gridley’s whole attack seemed to swing to the right.  Wadleigh, himself, from half-facing to right, took a long step toward right wing; then wheeled like a flash, and went plowing, onward, to the left.

Quarter, after the start, and ere Filmore could break through, had passed the ball to half, who, on a wild sprint, had passed it to Dick Prescott.

And now Dick was racing out around Filmore’s right end, backed by a crushing interference of which Wadleigh was the center.  Darrin, with head high, was watching for every chance at legitimate interference.  Behind them all, quarter and left half pounded and pushed.

An instant and Dick was free and around Filmore’s end.  Now, he dashed into the race of his life!

Wadleigh sent a man sprawling.  Dave’s elbow did something to Filmore’s right tackle.  Just what it was none of the spectators could see.  But none of the field officials interfered so it must have been legitimate.

After a fight and a short, brilliant run, Dick was tackled by Filmore’s fullback.

One quivering instant –­then Wadleigh and Hudson bumped that fullback so hard that he went down, Dick wriggling safely away and bounding toward Filmore’s goal.

With fire in their eyes, Gridley’s center and left wing swept on.

Dick Prescott was over the goal line, bending and holding the ball down!  Then, indeed, the crowd broke loose all except the few hundreds from Filmore.

Was it a touchdown?  That was the question that all asked themselves.  It was so close to the line that many onlookers were in doubt, and stood staring with all their eyes.

But the ball went back for the kick, and that settled all doubts.

Dave made the kick, and lost it –­but who cared?

A moment later and the whistle blew –­the second half was over –­the game finished.

Filmore had bitten the dust to the song of eleven to eight.

Dick’s tiny head shake had been a piece of strategy prearranged with Wadleigh.  It was a legitimate ruse, as honest as any other piece of football strategy intended to throw the enemy “off”.

Now the band was indeed thundering out, playing in its best strain.

All restraint thrown aside, the spectators surged over the lines and out on the gridiron, making a rush for the heated but happy home players.

The record had been kept –­a season without a game lost.  Filmore swallowed its chagrin and went home.

Dick?  He had helped nobly to save the game and the record, but now he was exhausted.

Over in dressing quarters two of the subs were rubbing him down, while Dr. Bentley and Coach Morton stood anxiously by.