Tom and Phil roomed together, and at midnight Tom, who had just fallen into a doze, after envying the sound slumber of his chum, was awakened by the latter. "I'm sick, Tom," said Phil faintly. "What's the matter, old man?" asked the left-end anxiously, and he jumped out of bed, turning on the electric light. "I don't know, but I'm dizzy, and I feel--well, rotten, to put it mildly." "That's too bad. Can I get you anything?" "Better call Mr. Lighton. I don't want to take a lot of dope unless he says so." Tom quickly dressed and called the coach, who was on the same floor where all the football players had their rooms. He came in quickly, and after one glance at Phil insisted on calling the hotel physician. The doctor went through the usual procedure, and left some medicine for Phil. "What is it?" asked the coach of the physician. "Nothing, only his stomach is a little upset. Change of diet and water will sometimes do it. He'll be all right in the morning." Phil was better the next day, but when he went out to practice with the lads, there was a lassitude in his movements, and a lack of snap in his manner of running the team, that made several open their eyes. Mr. Lighton said nothing, but Tom whispered to his chum to "brace up." Phil tried to, and managed to get through the practice with some return of his former vim. He went to bed early that night, and slept soundly--too heavily, Tom thought, as it might indicate fever. The day of the game, however, Phil seemed all right. His face was paler than usual, and there was a grimness about his lips that Tom seldom saw. The Randall boys had light practice in the morning, running through the signals, and then took a rest until it was time to go on the field. There was a big attendance, and the cheers of the small contingent of Randall supporters could hardly be heard. The preliminary practice seemed to go all right, and when the whistle blew there was a confident eleven that lined up against Wescott. The play was hard and snappy, with much kicking and open work. The rivals of Randall had a couple of backs who were excellent punters, and the visitors were kept busy chasing the ball. But there came a change, and when Randall had the pigskin Phil rushed his men up the field to such good advantage that they scored the first touch-down, to the no small dismay of the Wescott team. "Now, Phil, some more work like that," said Holly Cross, but the quarter-back did not answer. Wescott got possession of the ball toward the close of the first half, and with surprising power rushed it up the field. In less time than had been thought possible they had a touch-down. Randall lost the pigskin on fumbles, and when Wescott got it again they kicked a field goal. This ended the half. Phil staggered as he walked to the dressing-room for the rest period. "What's the matter?" asked the coach quickly. "Nothing--I'm--I'm all right," answered the quarter-back, and he gritted his teeth hard.