If he could only go into the game. Just for that last quarter. Surely it could not do any harm. He must do it. He could not sit there and see the fellows beaten. The third quarter was nearly over when he leaped to his feet, his face white and determined, and ran swiftly toward the house. Dashing inside, he encountered Keran, his face a network of scowling lines, his fists clenched, and one foot tied up in bandages. “Gimme your clothes!” Hollister exclaimed. “Quick!” “What——” gasped Keran. “Blazes!” ripped out the excited fellow. “Your clothes, I tell you! Get ’em off! Mine aren’t here!” With an exclamation of joy, the other realized what he meant to do. Snatching off his jacket and jersey, he tossed them to Bob, who was already half undressed. “Glory be!” he cried. “You’re going to play! You’ll brace ’em up!” Hollister made no answer. His eyes were gleaming. One thought only was in his mind. He must get into those togs and back to the field before the beginning of the last quarter. He meant to play if he never did another thing in all his life. His promise to Merriwell was forgotten. He thought of nothing but that line of gasping, tattered men out there, striving vainly against black defeat. With eager, trembling fingers, Keran helped him lace his jacket. Rudolph Rose staggered up from where he lay full length on a bench, and, dropping down on the floor, laced up his shoes. Neither of them spoke a word, for words were unnecessary. They understood. In a miraculously short time Bob was ready, and, snatching up a nose guard, he tore out of the house. Bill Fullerton, his face black as a thundercloud, was talking to Tempest on the side lines. The brief intermission was almost over as Bob dashed up to them. “I want to go in, Don!” he exclaimed. Both men looked at him in astonishment. “I thought——” Tempest began. “Never mind that,” Hollister interrupted. “I’ve got to go in! That’s the only way. The fellows have gone all to pieces since Merriwell hurt himself!” Still the captain of the varsity hesitated. He knew quite well of the promise Hollister had made Merriwell that he would not play football again during his college course. “I swear to you, Don, by all that’s holy,” Bob said earnestly, “that if you let me play out this game I’ll never touch football again! It’s only fifteen minutes, Don! Just fifteen little minutes! If I sit here watching it, I shall go mad. Let me play, Don.” His pleading voice quivered with the emotion which was tearing him. Tempest was in somewhat of a quandary. He wanted to put Hollister in, for he felt that it was barely possible that Bob might succeed in putting spirit into the jaded, discouraged men. He was fresh, too, and wrought up to a white heat of enthusiasm. It would be strange if he did not accomplish something. Don glanced at Fullerton questioningly. The coach nodded emphatically. “It’s the only thing that can possible save the day,” he said decidedly. “Better let him in.” “Who——”