Murray had asked for time and was mending her offense with new material. But there were seconds left now instead of minutes,――not more than ninety of them,――and the score on the board up there was not destined to change. Murray tried desperately to get a man loose, throwing thrice to the tall forward-pass specialist, but twice the ball grounded and once only did he get his hands on it, securing then six yards with Barry clinging to his legs. And then, with the Murray punter stepping back, the end came, and Broadmoor had won, 6 to 0. Barry, secretly still thrilled by the memory of that punt, though trying hard not to show it, followed the well-worn path that led across the field to the gymnasium, a silent member of a vocally triumphant stream of players. He still limped a little, but he wasn’t aware of it. He was supremely glad that he had come through so well. He wondered if Major Loring was pleased. Some one ranged alongside and Barry recognized behind a mask of grime the broad countenance of Pete Zosker. “Lucky thing you got that guy, Locke,” said Pete, affably. Barry stared up, perplexed. It seemed to him a strange way in which to refer to a punt. But he nodded and Pete added: “He’s a mighty good hand with those things. Wish we had him!” “You mean...?” murmured Barry. “Yeah, that long-legged half-back of theirs. If you hadn’t stopped him that last time I’ll bet he’d have scored. He can run, that long-legged kangaroo!” It dawned on Barry then that the center was talking about his tackle in the last minute of play and not about the punt, and he hurriedly readjusted his thoughts. “Oh!” he said. “Well, I guess Zinn would have got him.” “Not a chance,” declared Pete, convincingly. “I don’t believe any one could stop that cuss after he once got started!” Pete drew away, leaving Barry sorely perplexed. Not a word about that forty-five-yard kick, made with the enemy charging wildly down on him, made by one who had never before that season taken part in a game with an outside team! Not even mention of it! As for that tackle of the chap who had received the forward-pass, why, it hadn’t seemed to him worth a thought. He had been the nearest to the enemy and had instinctively made for him. By good fortune he had got him. Any fellow could have done that, could scarcely have avoided doing it, but that punt――well, he guessed that even Pete Zosker wouldn’t have done any better under the conditions!