It came from the varsity quarter, and Andy noticed, with a thrill in his heart, that Gaffington was to take the ball. "Here's where I get him!" muttered Andy, fiercely. There was a rush--a thud of bodies against bodies--gaspings of breaths, the cracking of muscles and sinews. Andy felt himself in a maelstrom of pushing, striving, hauling and toppling flesh. Then, in an instant, there came an opening, and he saw before him but one player--Mortimer--with the ball. Like a flash Andy sprang forward and caught his man in a desperate embrace--a hard, clean tackle. Andy put into it all his strength, intent only upon hurling his opponent to the turf with force enough to jar him insensible if possible. Perhaps he should not have done so, you may say, but Andy was only human. He was playing a fierce game, and he wanted his revenge. Into Mortimer's eyes came a look of fear, as he went down under the impact of Andy. But there was this difference. Mortimer's previous experience had taught him how to take a fall, and he came to no more hurt through Andy's fierce tackle than from that of any other player, however much Andy might have meant he should. Our hero did not stop to think that he might have injured one of the varsity players so as to put him out of the game, and at a time when Yale needed all the good men she could muster. And Gaffington, in spite of his faults, was a good player. There was a thud as Andy and Mortimer struck the earth--a thud that told of breaths being driven from their bodies. Then Andy saw the ball jarred from his opponent's arms, and, in a flash he had let go and had rolled over on it. An instant later there was an animated pile of players on both lads, smothering their winded "Downs!" "That'll do! Get up!" snapped the coach. "What's the matter with you, Gaffington, to let a freshman get you that way and put you out of the game? Porter!" he shouted and a lad came running from the bench, pulling off his sweater as he ran, and tossing it to a companion. He had been called on to take Gaffington's place, and the latter, angry and shamed-faced, walked to the side lines. As he went he gave Andy a look, as much as to say: "You win this time; but the battle isn't over. I'll get you yet." As for Andy, his revenge had been greater than he had hoped. He had put his enemy out of the game more effectively than if he had knocked the breath from him by a tremendous tackle. "Good tackle, Blair!" called the scrub captain to him, as the line-up formed again. "That's the way to go for 'em!" The coach said nothing, but to the varsity captain he whispered: "Keep your eye on Blair. If he keeps on, he may make a player yet. He's a little too wild, though. Don't say anything that will give him a swelled head." The practice went on unrelentingly, and then the candidates were ordered back to the gymnasium on the run, to be followed by a shower and a brisk rub.