“Listen to the fire eater,” laughed Fenton.  Dave grinned good-humoredly, but went insistently: 

“All right.  If any of you fellows think I take less than the best you can possibly do, try it out with me.”

Then Darrin came over to rest a hand on Prescott’s shoulder.

“Dick, you’ll give me any orders you have before we go on, and between the halves, won’t you?”

“Not a word,” replied Dick promptly.  “Dave, you can lead as well as ever I have done.  If you’re going to be captain to-day you’ll be captain in earnest.  I’ll hamper you neither with advice nor orders.”

With so important a player as Dick Prescott out of the team Dave had a hard task in rearranging the eleven.  In this he sought direction from Mr. Morton.  Rapidly they sketched the new line-up.

Darrin himself would have to drop quarterback and go to center.  For this latter post Dave was rather light, but he carried the knack of sturdy assault better than any other man in the team after Prescott.

Tom Reade was called to quarter.  Shortly afterwards all the details had been completed.

“As to style, you’ll gather that from the signals,” muttered Darrin.  “The only rule is the one we always have—–­that we can’t be beat and we know we can’t.”

There came a rap at the door.  Then a bushy mop of football hair was thrust into the doorway.

“Talking strategy, signals or anything we shouldn’t hear?” asked the pleasant voice of Forsythe, captain of the Hallam Heights boys.

“Not a blessed thing,” returned Dave.  “Come in, gentlemen.”

Captain Forsythe, in full field toggery, came in, followed by the members of the visiting team, all as completely attired for work.

“We’re really not intruding?” asked Forsythe, after he had stepped into the room.

“Not the least in the world,” responded Dave heartily.  “Mr. Forsythe. let me introduce you to Mr. Morton, our coach, and to Mr. Prescott, the real captain of this tin-pan crowd of pigskin chasers.”

“Oh, I mistook you for Prescott,” replied Forsythe, as he acknowledged the introductions.

“No; I’m Darrin, the pewter-plate second captain—–­the worst you’ve got to fear to-day,” laughed Dave, as he held out his hand.

“Why—–­what——­anything happened?” asked Captain Forsythe, looking truly concerned.

“Captain Prescott has had his knee injured, and two of our other crack men are in bed, sick,” replied Mr. Morton cheerfully.  “Otherwise we’re all quite well.”

“Your captain and two other good men out?” asked Forsythe in real sympathy.  “That doesn’t sound fair, for we came over here prepared to put up the very best we had against you old invincibles.  I’m awfully sorry.”

“Captain Forsythe, we all thank you for your sympathy,” Dick answered, “but Captain Darrin can lead at least as well as I can.  I believe he can do it better.  As for the team that we’re putting in the field to-day, if you can beat it, you could as easily beat anything we could offer at any other time.  So, as far as one may, with such courteous opponents as you are, Gridley hurls back its defiance and throws down the battle gage!  But play your very best team, Captain Forsythe, and we’ll do our best in return.”