“We might kidnap him,” suggested The Duke dreamily. “Anyone got a gunny-sack handy? We could tie him up in it and drop him into the Bosphorus――I mean the Wissining.” “What we should have done,” said Davis, “is to have sent someone to watch Broadwood play Nordham to-day. If it’s fair for them it’s fair for us.” “It’s extremely low-bridge,” replied The Duke disapprovingly. “Quite reprehensible, whatever that may be. Also, fellows, if anything should happen to him he’d have only himself to thank.” “What’s going to happen to him?” asked Gerald, eyeing The Duke with suspicion. The Duke only smiled carelessly. “Why ask me? I don’t say anything is going to happen. I only say if anything should happen――――” “Oh,” murmured Davis disappointedly, “I thought perhaps you had a plan to get rid of him.” The Duke viewed him reprovingly. “Perky, if you want anyone put out of the way you must do it yourself. I refuse to stain my hands with the life blood of even a Broadwood fellow. I’m that particular!” “Well, I hope he enjoys himself,” muttered the manager. “He won’t learn much, anyway.” He nodded and hurried off, drawing his note-book and pencil into sight. The Duke quietly beckoned Gerald and Harry toward the entrance. Outside the three stood for several minutes with their heads together. When they ambled carelessly back their countenances were as innocent of guile as the faces of three babies. Only there was a suspicious twinkle in The Duke’s eyes. The grand stand being filled, the three found a space on the grass near the rope and watched the two teams take their positions. It was a clear, nippy Fall day, with a brisk northwest breeze quartering across the field and streamers of white clouds scudding by overhead. Forest Hill had won the toss and chosen the north goal. The whistle blew and Fales kicked off. CHAPTER XI BROADWOOD IS FOILED Yardley’s first chance to score came within three minutes of the kick-off, after Forest Hill’s quarter had fumbled on the second play and Stark had fallen on the ball near the twenty-yard line. But although the Blue worked down to within twelve yards of the goal, the attack weakened and the pigskin changed hands. Forest Hill kicked on first down and the play went to the middle of the field. And about the middle of the field, with small advantage to either side, it stayed for the rest of the twelve-minute period, with neither team being able to gain much ground. A minute or two before the whistle sounded The Duke carelessly arose, yawned, stretched and wandered away down the line. Now and then he paused to look back at the play or to speak to an acquaintance, but presently, having left the grand stand far behind, he doubled back and hurried around between the stand and the tennis courts, reappearing at the entrance just as the two teams, donning blankets, paused for the two-minute intermission. The Duke pushed his way through the throng with an important air and faced the sloping tiers.