Probably a football player never had more assistance in togging up for a game.  Those who couldn’t get in close enough to help Dick dress growled at the others for keeping them out.

“You seem uneasy, Coach,” murmured Captain Wadleigh, aside.

“I am.”

“I can’t believe, sir, that a careful man like Dr. Bentley would let Prescott go on at left end today, if there was good reason why Prescott shouldn’t.  As we know, from the past, Dick Prescott has wonderful powers of recuperation.”

“If Prescott should go to pieces, Captain, whom will you put forward in his places”

“Dalzell, sir.  He’s speedy, even if not as clever as Prescott or Drayne.”

“I’m glad you’ve been looking ahead, Captain.  Out I hope Prescott will hold out, and suffer no injury whatever from this day’s work.”

Was Dick anxious?  Not the least in the world.  He was care free—–­jubilant.  The Gridley spirit possessed him.  He was going to hold out, and the eleven was going to win its game.  That was all there was to it, or all there could be.

In the first two or three days after his injury at the fire Dick had traveled briefly in the dark valley of physical despair.

To be crippled or ill, to be physically useless—–­the thought filled him with horror.

Then young Prescott had taken a good grip on himself.  Out of despair proceeded determination not to allow his lungs to go down before the assault of smoke and furnace-like air.

Grace Dodge was not, as yet, well on the way to recovery, but Dick Prescott, with his strong will power, and the grit that came of Gridley athletics, was now togging hastily to play in the great game—–­though he had not, as yet, returned to school after his disaster.

Out near the grandstand the band crashed forth for the tenth time.  Gridley High School bannerets waved by the hundreds.  Yet Filmore, too, had her hosts of boosters here today, and their yells all but drowned out the spirited music.

“Here come our boys!  Gridley!  Gridley!  Gridley!  Wow-ow-ow!”

“Hurrah!”

Then the home boosters, who had read Drayne’s name on the score card took another look at their cards—–­next rubbed their eyes.

“Prescott at left end!” yelled one frenzied booster.  “Whoop!”

Then the Gridley bannerets waved like a surging sea of color.  The band, finishing its strain, started in again, not waiting for breath.

“Prescott, after all, on left end!”

Home boosters were still cheering wildly by the time that Captain Pike, of Filmore High School, had won the toss and the teams were lining, up.

Silence did not fall until just the instant before the ball was put in play.

Drayne, with his headgear pulled down over his eyes, and skulking out beside the grand stand, soon began to feel a savage satisfaction.

Something must be ailing the left end man after all, for Dick did not seem able to get through the Filmore line with his usual brilliant tactics.