And the coach, a Princeton crack, asked the same; only he asked it over and over, making most uncomplimentary references to a “bunch of butter-fingered dough-heads,” as he addressed the team between the halves. He warned Taffy Bingham, the right-tackle, that he was playing carelessly, and that the line would get a hole bored in it, unless he watched out. Taffy deliberately turned his back and paid little attention. The coach, who hated Taffy’s sneers, longed to be able to put some one else in his place, but had no one so good. Early in the second half, Taffy was playing more carelessly than ever, though Bill McDever, captain of the team, and right-guard, used terrific language to him. And just then the Etonians got through, brushed Taffy aside, tossed on a trick, and landed a touch-down. Furthermore, they kicked goal successfully—and now their score was ahead of the Santa Benicians. Poodle was biting the front of the seat above him, and kicking as though dying of three or four diseases at once, while the hundred rooters that the Etonians had brought danced all over each other. Then the Etonians held the Santa Benicians down for fifteen terrible minutes, till Hike, Hike Griffin, got around left end on a fake kick, and made a forty-yard run, while the whole school gasped, afraid to breathe. A fast little Etonian, caught at him as he passed, but he shook the sprinter off with a laugh, and loped ahead. The breeze hit his face; he made b’lieve—just plain made b’lieve—that he was driving the _Hustle_ before Congress and the President; gritted his teeth, and fled toward the Etonian goal. As he reached a clear field, the Santa Benicians all rose and bawled, “Hike, Hike, hike; hike, Hike, hike!” He hiked. He made that touch-down. Captain Bill McDever reached him, pounded him on the back, and grinned, asking cheerfully, “What were you running so fast for? Nobody near you. Save your wind.” Poodle had sneaked into the field. He got there just in time to explain. “Hike forgot his handkerchief and went back to get it,” before he was ordered off the field. Then, to add to the general joy, Snifty Carter kicked goal, safely. For the rest of the game, not another score was made. But the game was won for Santa Benicia and—but let Poodle explain—“and Hike had that job as right-half cinched for the rest of his life, with a raise every week!” The team was stripping off sweaters and socks, when Taffy Bingham came up to Hike. “Griffin,” he said, “that was a great run you made. And it was my bum playing that made it necessary. You made me want to buck up and—Shake hands, Griffin—uh—_Hike_, old man!” The coach said nothing, but he was very glad, because he knew that this meant all the bad blood between Hike and Taffy had flowed by.