Long and thin as a greyhound, Dittler was flying across the field in a long, diagonal slant, trusting to his agility and his dodging powers to evade the figure bearing down upon him. The boys were shouting, the regulars urging Dittler on, the scrubs yelling for Bill. The eyes of Coach Garwin narrowed as the opponents neared each other. Just as Bill was within a few feet of him, Dittler halted, swerved and was off like a flash at another angle. But Bill had sensed the strategy and himself had turned so that Dittler found him right in his path. Dittler dodged, squirmed, tried to run around his adversary. For a moment it looked as though he would get past those outstretched arms. "Get him, Bill! Get him!" cried Garry, wild with excitement. "Come on, you Dittler!" came from the throats of the regulars. With muscles as tense as whipcord, jaw set, the blood pounding in his ears, Bill put all his strength in one magnificent leap. His arms closed joyfully about the legs of his opponent. Tackler and tackled came to the ground in a cloud of dust. "Another Indian bit the dust!" crowed Rooster. "I'll say that Bill is poor!" chuckled Ted. Dittler, wiping the grime from his eyes, looked up grinningly at the coach as he approached. "This boy sure can tackle, coach," he said generously. "I thought a house fell on me. You've sure got to hand it to him." "So it seems," drawled Garwin. "You've redeemed yourself, Sherwood. Any one who can bring Dittler to earth is good." As a climax to the afternoon's practice, the coach lined the two teams up against each other in a series of short scrimmages. In these, as was to be expected, the regulars had the advantage, owing to their weight and experience. But all the same the scrubs gave them plenty to do. It was a hot, pell-mell, ding-dong fight. The regulars were out to show that the coach was right when he picked them. The scrubs were equally determined to show that the coach had made a mistake in not putting them on the first team. In this the scrubs did not quite succeed. But they did at least give Al Garwin food for thought. Those sleepy-looking eyes of his missed nothing that took place. Oftenest, perhaps, they were fixed on Garry Grayson. For that young man was nothing less than a wildcat that afternoon. He fought for every advantage, was quick as a flash, as cold and hard as steel. He was here, there, and everywhere, instilling his own fighting spirit into his team. Twice he himself got through for what would have been a sure touchdown in a regular game. Tom Allison and Pete Maddern played finely. Ted, Rooster, Nick and Bill gave a good account of themselves. But it was Garry who shone as the bright particular star of the scrubs. When at last Al Garwin called it a day's work the coach walked off the field with a smile of satisfaction on his face, which, however, he was careful to conceal from the boys. "It looks as though I had two good teams instead of one," he mused.