“Pound away! Yell away!” he said. “I think there will be sufficient noise on the field so that your cries will not be heard for a time, at least.” He ran from the gym toward the field, and was just in time to go out with the team. When the disappointed cadets saw the team go on the field for the second half they started up and showed interest, for there had been a big change. With a single exception, the old players were back in their regular positions. Kent, who had not entirely recovered from injuries received in a previous game, was not at left tackle, although he was waiting among the substitutes. Gardner filled his place. Gardner was not quite large enough for guard, but he was so very fast that Dick had decided to retain him in the line. Shannock and Buckhart were again on the ends. Dare and Bradley were the guards, Jolliby was at right tackle, and Darrell assumed his old position at left half-back. Three members of the athletic committee stared and wondered. “What does it mean?” asked Anson Day. “Why, I thought Merriwell had been given orders to——” “Where’s Warne?” asked Oliver Stone excitedly. “Where’s Arlington?” exclaimed Hadley Burrows. “We must see about this!” But they looked in vain for either Warne or Arlington. The cadets were cheering with new life now. Everywhere the red and black was waving. What a difference there was! Confidence seemed restored. There was a lull as the spread-out teams waited for the kick-off. In that hush and pause Dick Merriwell’s keen ears seemed to catch the sound of faint, muffled shouts coming from the direction of the gymnasium, and he smiled grimly. Fardale went into the game with a whirl and a rush that almost swept Uniontown off her feet. The home team had snap, ginger, vim, and go to it. Every man was in the game. They played together, and they were out for victory. Getting the ball, Fardale began hammering against the enemy, at their thirty-yard line. The funnel-play was tried, and Singleton hit the left wing of the enemy, going through for five yards. The same play was repeated, the funnel seeming pointed in the same direction. Singleton rushed ahead until near what seemed the point of assault, then suddenly darted out through the side of the funnel, where an opening had been made for him, and went through the left wing of the enemy for seven yards. Well, this was the kind of stuff! This was playing football! A third time the ball was given to big Bob. And now he went forward protected by a wedge that hit the line in the center. The wedge pressed on steadily until the opposing team began to tear it to pieces. Bob saw a tackler coming through, and, with a deft movement, he tossed the ball out to Dick Merriwell, who had been keeping just back of him on the outside of the edge.