"I'm afraid so too," admitted Mr. Phillips. "But it's the only thing left for us to do. It would be suicide to use the new ones that Wimbledon knows. And we've got to remember that if our boys get confused, Wimbledon, too, is apt to get rattled when she finds we're not using the signals to which she's been tipped off. So maybe it will be a standoff. At any rate, it's our only chance. "Now just one thing more, Grayson. Don't say a word about this to any of the team. They might let it leak out inadvertently. I'll give them their instructions just before they go out on the field. And don't get too discouraged over the outlook. True, the boys have been practicing the new signals for the last two weeks. But, remember, they've been familiar with the old ones for two years, and the force of old habit will assert itself, if they set themselves earnestly to the work." Garry drew what comfort he could from this and hurried home to get a light lunch before he repaired to the field for the decisive struggle of the season. He was glad, anyway, that the game was to take place on the Lenox grounds. That ought to count for something in the home team's favor. Whatever apprehension he felt, he concealed under a bright exterior, and to all appearances was his usual confident, aggressive self as he chatted with his comrades in the gymnasium. Also, he had searched every closet before Mr. Phillips appeared on the scene. "All ready to whip Wimbledon, boys?" asked the coach cheerily. A roar of assent rang through the gymnasium. The boys were in high feather, and showed it. "Good!" said Mr. Phillips. "Go in and wipe up the earth with them. You're trained to the minute. I've never seen you in better form." He paused for a moment. "I'm going to say a thing that may surprise you," he went on, "but you must believe that I know what I'm doing and that it's for the best. We'll use the old signals in this game." There was a gasp of surprise that had in it a suggestion of panic. The players looked at each other in amazement. "Steady, boys," counseled the coach. "You heard me. Put the new signals out of your mind. Build up a blank wall between your mind and them. You can do it! After all, the old ones are far more familiar. They'll come back to you instinctively. Do as I say and you'll win. Out with you now on the field!" "Come along, fellows!" called Garry, and trotted out, followed by his more or less dazed comrades. For ten minutes they practiced falling on the ball and running through the old signals. Then, as the moment for the game approached, Garry gathered his boys together and indicated a certain point in the crowded stands. Their eyes followed his and rested on Sandy, Lent, Aleck Anderson, and Ed Bixby. The quartet was in a hilarious mood. "See those fellows?" cried Garry. "They've bet on Wimbledon. They're rooting for us to lose. Are you going to let them gloat over us?" "No!"