Dan departed. For a moment no one said anything. Arthur, however, raised his brows, and Tom shook his head as much as to say, “Don’t ask me!” “He’s got it bad,” remarked Arthur finally. “Well, I daresay it’s not much fun being football captain at a school where nearly three hundred fellows are watching you all the time and expecting you to turn out a winning team no matter what the conditions may be. I guess it’s natural enough to get nervous now and then.” “That’s so,” Tom agreed. “I’ll bet I’d be batty in no time if I was cap. I hope Dan gets over it before next Saturday, though.” “He will. Payson will steady him down all right.” “I daresay. Poor old Dan sure did play a punk game to-day.” “He kicked that goal in good shape, though,” said Gerald. “You’re right,” Tom agreed. “It was a dandy. Almost as good as that friend of yours could have done, Arthur.” “What friend of mine?” Tom winked at Gerald. “Why, that chap you saw kicking goals in your sleep that day.” “I wasn’t asleep,” answered Arthur with a frown. “I don’t care if he couldn’t be found; I saw him all right.” “Well, if there is such a chap,” said Tom, “why doesn’t he show up? Payson has hunted the whole school through.” “I have an idea,” said Gerald, “that he wasn’t one of our fellows at all, that he was some village chap who came up and used the field knowing there wouldn’t be anyone there in the morning.” “I hadn’t thought of that,” Arthur replied. “I’ll just bet that was it!” “The explanation,” agreed Tom gravely, “is plausible. I am glad to hear it, Arthur. It restores my faith in your veracity.” Dan did no work on Monday, Tuesday nor Wednesday. The coach even refused to allow him to visit the field the first two days. By Thursday, Dan’s attack of nerves had apparently departed. There was an extra hard practice that afternoon in preparation for the game with Porter Institute. Porter was known to have what Tom called “a corking lot of huskies,” and was expected to give a good deal of trouble. And so it turned out. Saturday was a miserable day. It had started to rain Friday evening and had kept it up all night. At eleven the sun shone for a few moments and it was hoped that the afternoon would be fair. But by dinner time the rain was coming down again “fently but girmly,” to use Ned Tooker’s phrase, and so it continued all during the game, clearing finally when the Porter team was rolling stationward with Yardley’s scalps hanging from their belts. For Yardley met her first defeat that day. Porter Institute had a fine team; there was no gainsaying that; but it must be also acknowledged that Yardley did not play up to form. A fumble by the Porter full-back a few minutes after the game started gave the home team its one lone score. Dan picked up the ball and, with Mitchell assisting for a time, sprinted down the field for seventy yards and a touchdown. Hammel missed the goal with great ease.