The Kenly safety man was almost on him when Chick got his fingers on the ball, but Chick was not to be stopped. Somehow he twisted himself aside, felt the tackler’s frantic hands slip away, staggered back and saw a clear field ahead. But pursuit was close behind him as he started away, pursuit composed of friend and foe jumbled confusedly. Perhaps Chick was thinking of the countenance framed on Johnny Cade’s mantel, perhaps he was remembering that here and now were his last moments of preparatory school football, perhaps he wasn’t thinking a thing but that thirty yards between him and the goal. That as may have been, he ran faster than he had ever run in his life in a football game. Behind him interference and attack met and dropped from the chase, but right to the last white line a red-and-black-legged enemy kept on his heels, arms outstretched for the tackle that was never made until too late. Chick was run out when he reached the goal-line, and he crumpled up a yard beyond it, the ball under him and the equally exhausted pursuer flung across his legs. No one cared a mite that Pete Ness fumbled the pass and so never had a chance to add a goal to that touchdown. Twenty-six points were enough! Not for years had Alton triumphed so signally over the ancient rival, and Alton made much of the victory. Over the field she marched, cheering, singing, throwing caps and megaphones aloft, while twilight gathered fast and the Kenly horde, standing with bared heads, sung the school song. The Alton players, heroes all, bobbed about on the shoulders of maniacal youths, Lum Patten with the scarred football clasped in triumph under one tattered gray sleeve. * * * * * “I guess he’s got it by now,” mused Tommy Parish. “Some present, if you _demander moi_.” “No one has any idea of asking you, Tommy,” replied Bert. “As a matter of plain and unvarnished fact, it wasn’t so blame much of a present after all.” “What? Why wasn’t it?” exclaimed Tommy, outraged. “Well, was it? There are more than four hundred fellows here and we managed to get an eighty-dollar chest of near-silver!” “Well, a lot of tightwads didn’t subscribe!” Tommy protested. “I know. That’s the answer.” “Shut up, you two,” grumbled Chick. “For Pete’s sake, Tommy, don’t you ever do any studying?” Tommy nodded and dropped a hand into a pocket. The nod wasn’t an emphatic nod, for he was undergoing an attack of boils just now, but its meaning was plain. “Sure, I have to study,” he replied untroubledly, “but I don’t believe in overdoing it. Say, Chick, don’t you think the wedding present we sent Johnny was all right?” “Of course it was. He’s got enough plated silver to last him a lifetime. Say, by the way, the wedding’s to-morrow, isn’t it?” Chick leaned back from the table and looked thoughtful. “Well, I hope he will be happy. That’s sure a nice girl he’s marrying!” Bert chuckled. “I believe you’re sweet on her yourself, Chick.”