"It remains to be seen whether it will do the same thing against another team," said the coach. "But we'll try it Saturday against the Dodville Prep School. Now, boys, line up, and we'll run through it again? Also the forward pass and the on-side kick." The players were in the midst of a scrimmage, and Joe Jackson had just made a fine run, when Wallops was seen coming across the gridiron. The messenger had an envelope in his hand, and at the sight of him Phil Clinton turned pale. "Get back, Wallops!" cried the coach. "You're in the way." "I have a telegram for Mr. Clinton," said the messenger. "Oh, all right. Come on." Phil's hand were trembling so he could hardly open the message. He read it at a glance. Tom went close to him, and put his hand on his shoulder. "Is it--is it----" he began. "Dad says to hold myself in readiness to come at any time," said Phil slowly. There was silence among the players, all of whom knew of the serious illness of Phil's mother. Coach Lighton went up to the quarter-back and said: "Well, we won't practice any more to-day. It's too bad, Clinton." Phil swallowed two or three times. He forced back a mistiness that was gathering like a film over his eyes. He thrust the telegram into his jacket. "Let's go on with the practice," he said sturdily. "We aren't perfect in that fake tackle run yet, and I want to use it against Dodville." It was a plucky answer, and many a hardy player on the Randall eleven felt a new liking for the quarter-back as he went to his place behind Snail Looper, who stooped to receive the ball. CHAPTER XXI STRANGE BEDFELLOWS The practice was over. Phil stuck to it until he had, with the assistance of the coach and the captain, drilled the 'varsity into an almost perfect running of the trick play. Of course, how it would work against fierce opponents was another matter. But, in spite of the shock engendered by the receipt of the telegram, Phil would not give up until the men fairly "snapped" into place, after he had given the signal for the fake tackle run and pass to the half-back. Now he and Tom were on their way to their room. "What are you going to do, Phil?" asked Tom. "I don't know," was the despondent answer. "I--of course, I'll have to go when I get word." "Do you think she's worse?" "I'm afraid so; or else they're going to operate. But don't let's talk about it. It breaks me all up." "I should think it would. I don't see how you could stay in practice after you got the message." "I felt as if I had to, Tom. Of course, I know I'm only a small factor in the eleven----" "I think you're a pretty big one," interrupted the left-end enthusiastically.