There was still danger from the subs’ safety man, but that danger was soon over. Gissing had somehow disposed of his man and was now spurting at Barry’s right, and it was Gissing and not Barry who met the fierce tackle of Ike Boardman. The two merged in one confused blur in the twilight as Barry went on. Footsteps pursued and voices shouted encouragement or dismay, but Barry had only to keep the pace he had set over five gray lines, and that he did. Well, perhaps not quite that, for past the last yards his feet went slower, but he was over the goal line well ahead of the nearest desperate pursuer. Third got quite a thrill from that touchdown, and Pitkin, a six-foot Second Classman with a voice that always shot up into a soprano under stress of emotion, hauled Barry to his feet and piped shrilly: “Ata kid! Ata kid! Pretty runnin’, Locke!” And Brush, panting hard, grinned approval and would have hustled his men back to the five-yard line for the try-for-point had not the Major intervened. “That’s all for to-day, fellows,” he announced. “Never mind the goal, Brush. It’s too dark for any more.” In the locker-room Barry stole a troubled glance at Clyde. The latter, pulling off his togs, was talking to Hal Stearns in undertones. His lowered countenance looked to Barry most forbidding, and not until Clyde was through the door that led to the showers did Barry take his towel from a hook and follow. He didn’t want to meet Clyde just then. Short of the doorway he was halted by Major Loring. “Oh, Locke,” said the coach, “you didn’t get in any punting practice to-day, did you? Better take a half-hour in the morning. Think you can make it?” “Yes, sir, I’ll have plenty of time to-morrow.” “Good. Noble will help you. Tell him what time you’ll be out. And try to keep that leg stiff, Locke, that’s your trouble now. You’re improving, but I want to see you do a lot better yet. That was a nice sneak you made, by the way. I saw that you hung to your interference very cleverly.” “Well, if I did,” laughed Barry, “I didn’t know I was doing it, Major.” The Major smiled. “All the better,” he said. “If you do a thing instinctively you’re not likely to forget to do it. Boardman thinks he ought to have you on his squad to do the punting, so to-morrow you join the subs. Good night.” “Join the subs”! The words repeated themselves long after the icy water was hissing over his bare shoulders. That could mean only one thing; that he was to become Clyde’s rival for right-half position. What would Clyde say? Gee! what _would_ he!