"Now, fellows," he exhorted, "let's show those first string boobs where they get off. They've made twenty-four points. They're counting on us to do not much more than hold Thomaston even. Let's give them the surprise of their lives." This they promptly proceeded to do. They ran wild. Nothing could stop them. Under the delighted eyes of Mr. Phillips and the now sober looks of the first string men, they piled up touchdown after touchdown until, when the last period ended, they had added thirty-five points to the twenty-four already scored, making the final tally 59 to 0. It was the worst Waterloo that Thomaston had ever encountered. The Lenox boys were filled with joy, and none more so than the once-despised scrubs. "Just doormats, are we?" laughed Pete. "We've given them something to think of," chortled Tom Allison. "Did you see their long faces while we were piling up the score?" "We put a dent in that freshman tradition, anyway!" exulted Nick. "And now for Greenfield!" exclaimed Garry, turning from the present to the future. "That's the only obstacle left. If we hurdle that, we win the championship." "And it will take some hurdling," predicted Nick. "They won't be the pudding that Thomaston was to-day." That seemed more likely than ever when the boys learned that on that same afternoon Greenfield had fairly smothered Bass Lake, the same team that Lenox had beaten by only a scanty margin. The contest for the league pennant was now clearly defined. Lenox and Greenfield had each won three games and lost one. The other teams were out of the running. The Lenox-Greenfield game would decide the championship. In the meantime Mr. Grayson was busy preparing to defend Frank Sherwood in his trial for theft, which had been put on the docket for an early date. The more the lawyer delved into it the more confident he felt that Frank was innocent. Yet there was the definite evidence of Mooney and Anson, each corroborating that of the other, and despite the bad character of the men there was no knowing what effect it might have on the jury. Jerry Cox had several times met Garry on the street, but each time the latter had been accompanied by friends, so that Jerry had just spoken to him and passed on. But one afternoon toward dusk Garry happened to be alone as he encountered Jerry at the intersection of two streets. "Hello, Garry," Jerry greeted him. "How's tricks?" "Everything fine," replied Garry. "How are things going with you?" "Dandy," responded Jerry. "I like my work and the boss seems to like the way I do it. At least, he hasn't fired me yet," he added, with a grin. "My dad saw your boss the other day, and he said you were doing good work," said Garry. "I'm doing my best," declared Jerry, "and I'm tickled to death to get away from the poolroom gang. By the way, Garry, speaking of poolrooms--" He hesitated. "Yes," said Garry encouragingly.