"Luck, nothing!" returned Nick. "That red-headed rascal earned every inch he covered. His mates gave him good interference, too! We've got to hand it to them, much as we hate to. That was good football, and nothing else." Wimbledon seemed to have taken on a new lease of life, now that they had the lead. As though to show that there was nothing like a fluke in the first touchdown, they made another in the last minute of the quarter, Johnston this time being the happy warrior to scoop up the ball when Knapp fumbled and scamper like a jack rabbit over the goal line. Marsden's try for goal failed, but the Wimbledon rooters made little of that. Six more points had been safely stowed away and they were wild with enthusiasm. The Lenox partisans, glum and silent, breathed sighs of relief as the whistle blew. "Ten points ahead and the game half over!" muttered Ted disconsolately. "They're outplaying us," growled Nick. "They were like wild men in that quarter. We'll be lucky if they leave us our shirts." "Snap out of it," admonished Garry. "There's plenty of time left to win." "I wonder what Coach Garwin's saying to the boys," remarked Bill, as he looked toward the gymnasium where Wynn's battered warriors were resting and wondering what had hit them. "What he's saying is plenty," returned Nick. "He's got the finest command of language of any one I know. He's got the boys raw and bleeding by this time." That Al Garwin had been doing something of the kind was evident when the Lenox team trotted out for the third quarter. The players' faces were red and the glint of rage was in their eyes. "I can almost hear them gnashing their teeth," commented Bill. "So much the better," remarked Garry. "The coach has told them they were dubs. They're going to show him that he didn't know what he was talking about." That Al Garwin's tongue had rasped the boys to the quick was made evident from the start. Beebe kicked off for thirty yards and Dittler signaled for a fair catch. He made it and the ball was in the possession of Lenox on their own thirty-yard line. Then the home team commenced a triumphal march down the field. Their line smashing was irresistible. Again and again they made their distance, despite the frantic opposition put up by Wimbledon. And seeing the spirit and power that animated his boys, Wynn kept to the bucking game. Through they went, now on the left and again on the right side. All the players of the opposition looked alike to them. The Lenox boys plunged, smashed, bored their way through, while their rooters in the bleachers went mad. On their ten-yard line Wimbledon braced desperately. But it was of no use. Dittler went through for three, Knapp for four more, and Minter capped the plays when he tore through guard and left tackle for a touchdown. Garry and his fellow scrubs were pounding each other and babbling incoherently. "I guess our boys are poor!" chortled Garry. "Oh, yes, they're poor! Did you ever see such line bucking?"