Chapter XV. A Broken Fiddle - Page 2

he enjoyed writing it. That evening he and Amy dropped in at Number 14 Hensey and found a roomful of fellows in excited discussion of the game. There was a disposition on the part of some of the fellows to consider the Claflin contest as good as won, but Jack Innes was more pessimistic.

"Look here," he interrupted finally, "you fellows talk like a lot of sick ducks. I'm blessed if I see what you're so cocky about. We beat Chambers, all right, but we didn't any more than beat them, and we had to work like the very dickens to do it. And, what's more, we only kept Chambers from scoring by the biggest piece of good luck."

"Oh, piffle, Jack!" exclaimed Still. "We had them fourth down and five to go. They couldn't have made it to save their lives!"

"They only had four to go," replied Jack, "and if they'd tried anything but a child's trick they'd likely have made it. The only way we got across was by springing a delayed pass on them when they were looking for a line-plunge."

"Bet you anything you like we could have gone straight through for that touchdown." said Still. "We had the ball on their four yards and it was only third down. Harris or Kendall could have torn that four yards off easily."

"That's your opinion," replied Jack drily. "As I remember it, though, you were not on at the time. We knew mighty well we couldn't get that four yards by playing the line. If you don't believe me, ask Robey. The first thing he said afterwards was that he was afraid we were going to send Harris at centre on that last play and that if we had we'd never have got over."

"Oh, well, we got it, anyway," observed Tom Hall cheerfully.

"Yes, we got it," agreed Jack Innes, "but I'm telling you fellows that we only just did get it, and that we've got mighty little to crow about. Our forward line wasn't nearly as good as Chambers'. You all know that. And you ought to know that if we went in against Claflin and played the sort of football we played yesterday we'd be literally swamped!"

"But, look here, Jack," protested Tracey Black warmly, "it's only mid-season, old man. You've got to acknowledge that we're in mighty good shape for the time of year."

"I'm not knocking, Tracey. I'm giving all the fellows credit for what they did yesterday, but I don't want them to get the idea in their heads that all we've got to do is mark time from now until the big game. We've got to be at least twice as good then as we were yesterday. Besides, I don't call it the middle of the season when we've got only three games to play before Claflin. The Benton game was the mid-season game. We're on the last lap now. And," he added grimly, "we've got some work ahead of us!"

"For my part," observed Amy, who had been