But he stopped and stared at the field, where Hudsonville was making a listless pretense of playing during the few moments that remained. He seemed to go into a trance and stand there until the whistle blew and the game was over. He saw the “faithful” go tearing on to the gridiron and surround Dick, and he could bear to see no more. “I believe I’ll have to kill him yet!” he snarled, as he turned away. He walked blindly into the rail beyond which the spectators were slowly filing out from the enclosure. Some of them stared at him wonderingly, noting his wildly glaring eyes and hearing his incoherent mutterings. “What ails that chap?” said a man. “Gone bughouse,” intimated another. “Who is he?” “Don’t know. Saw him with that pretty girl who ran out on the field when Merriwell was hurt.” “He’s a Fardale boy?” “Yes.” “Must be crazy with joy. Can’t blame him after seeing his team win in that way.” Chester crawled under the rail and bumped against a man. “Get out of the way, you old fool!” he snarled. “Who are you talking to?” demanded the man, in astonishment and anger. “Who are you calling an old fool?” “You! you! you! You ran into me—me, son of D. Roscoe Arlington! Do you hear?” “You’re a crazy ass!” said the man, and walked on. Somehow those words seemed to bring Chester to his senses in a measure. “Brace up, old man!” he muttered huskily. “Why, I wouldn’t have Merriwell see you like this for a fortune!” He passed out through the gate with others and started away. Then he bethought himself and turned back to where a carriage, containing a driver, waited. He got into the carriage. “Go on,” he growled. “But the young lady, sir,” said the driver; “your sister.” “Oh, yes!” mumbled Chester. “I had forgotten her. We’ll wait for her. Darrell is a thundering fool!” “I beg your pardon, sir?” said the driver. “Nothing that concerns you,” growled Arlington, and he sat like a graven image, waiting for June. CHAPTER II—DICK STOPS A RUNAWAY The sweat-stained, bruised, battered, triumphant Fardale lads peeled off their football armor in the dressing-room beneath the stand. Earl Gardner was there, barely able to walk, but supremely happy. Dick was happy, too. Scudder, partly recovered from a collapse, was shaking hands with everybody. “It was a shame!” said Ted Smart in fun. “I hated to see us do it! They were so sure of the game that it seemed like robbery to take it.” “By Jim! I’ll be sore to-morrer!” piped Obediah Tubbs. “Never got no sech drubbin’ before sence dad used to lay me over his knee an’ swat me with the razor-strop.” “But you put Glennon on Queer Street,” smiled Dick. “And that was the finest thing I ever saw happen to a bruiser like him.” “He! he! he!” came from the fat boy. “I kinder thought I might git called down fer some of that business, but the empire didn’t dast say a word.”