“I doubt it. Our fellows are getting pretty tired. Watch this now. Simms has got it.” The little quarter-back skirted the end and made his twenty-yard gain, while the stand behind them shrieked wildly. Then Fayette got through for twelve, and the coach took his pipe from his mouth, tapped the ashes out carefully and replaced it between his teeth. Mr. Dana, watching sympathetically, smiled. He knew pretty well how the coach was feeling just then, for he had been through it himself. A minute or two later came Fayette’s fumble, Broadwood’s punt and Stearns’s clever run after the catch. “Time must be getting short,” said Mr. Dana. The coach nodded. “I guess so. Not more than five or six minutes, I suppose. A clean forward pass might help now.” But Simms was using his backs and Broadwood was steadily losing ground. Then came Simms’s run around the left end of the line and the ball lay on the thirty-five yards. Seven more by plunges, and time out for Stearns. Mr. Payson looked, walked up the line and called “Greene! Hurry up!” When the substitute ran up to him he only said: “All right. Send Stearns out. You know what to do. Tell Simms to plug away.” “Wouldn’t it be a good idea to try a field goal?” asked Mr. Dana. “There can’t be more than a couple of minutes left.” “Haven’t a man who could come within twenty feet of the bar,” replied Mr. Payson shortly. “Not out there you haven’t,” said Mr. Dana. “But there’s a chap back there on the bench who could probably do it for you.” Mr. Payson turned with a frown. “Who do you mean?” he asked. “Burtis, of the Second.” “Never heard of him. Someone’s been stringing you. Three fresh men for Broadwood, eh?” He puffed hard at his empty pipe. The whistle blew and the lines crouched again. “No, I know what I’m talking about,” continued Mr. Dana quietly. “He’s sort of a protégé of mine. I’ve just had him back of the stand and he made two or three drops and placements of anywhere from thirty-five to forty-five, Payson.” “What! Are you crazy, Dana?” “No.” The coach took his eyes from the scrimmage for one short moment. “Bring him here,” he said curtly. Mr. Dana hurried back to the center of the field, his gaze searching the benches for Kendall. But Kendall was not to be seen. “I’m looking for Burtis,” he said anxiously to some of the substitutes. “The coach wants him.” The fellows shook their heads. “Don’t know him, sir. What’s he like?” asked one, eager to assist. “He was on the Second,” replied Mr. Dana impatiently. The boy who had spoken hurried down to where the Second Team men sat. “Any of you fellows know who Burtis is?” he demanded. “Burtis! Yes, he was here a while ago. Want him?” “He went up into the stand about five minutes ago,” volunteered another. He stood up and turned toward the crowd beyond the rope. “Burtis!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Burtis wanted!”