Dick Prescott, with his dashing, crafty, splendid, score-making work at left end, had become a necessity to the Gridley eleven. "It's the toughest luck that ever happened," grumbled Hazelton, right guard, to Holmes, right tackle. "And I don't believe Drayne is in anything like condition, either." "Now, see here, you two," broke in Captain Wadleigh behind them, as he gripped an arm of either boy, "no croaking. We can't afford it." "We can't afford anything," grinned Hazelton uneasily. "Oh, of course, we're going to win today---Gridley simply has to win," added Holmes hastily. "Yes; you two look as though you had the winning streak on," growled Wadleigh, in a low voice. "For goodness' sake come out of your daze!" "Do you think yourself that Drayne is fit?" demanded Hazelton. "He's the fittest man we have that can play left end," retorted Wadleigh. "Knocking, are you?" demanded Drayne, coming up behind them. "Nice fellows you are!" "Oh, now, see here, Drayne, no bad blood," urged Wadleigh. He spoke authoritatively, yet coaxingly, too. "Remember, we've got to keep all our energies for one thing today." "Well, I'm mighty glad you two don't play on my end of the line," sneered Drayne, looking at Hazelton and Holmes with undisguised hostility. "Cut it, Drayne. And don't you two talk back, either," warned Wadleigh sternly. "Oh, acknowledge the corn, Drayne," broke in Hudson, with what he meant for good humor. "Just say you're no good and let it go at that." There was a dead silence, for an instant, broken by one unidentified fellow, muttering in a voice that sounded like a roar in the silence: "Drayne? Humph!" "There you go! That's what all of you are saying to yourselves!" cried Drayne angrily. "For some reason you idiots seem to think I'm in no shape today. Hang it, I'm sorry I agreed to play. For two cents I wouldn't play." "Drayne can be bought off cheaply, can't he?" remarked one of the fellows. The last speaker did not intend that his voice should reach Drayne, but it did. "Say, you fellows all have a grouch on, just because I'm playing today!" quivered the victim of the remarks. "Oh, well, never mind I'll cure your grouch, then!" Seating himself on a locker box, Drayne began to unfasten the lacings of his shoes. "Here, man! What are you doing?" demanded Captain Wadleigh, bounding forward angrily. "Curing the grouch of this bunch," retorted Drayne sulkily. "Man alive, there's no time to fool with your shoes now!" warned the team captain. "I'm not going to need this pair," Drayne rejoined. "Street shoes will do for me today." "Not on the gridiron!" "I'm not going on the field. I've heard enough knocking," grumbled Drayne. A dozen of the fellows crowded about, consternation written in their faces. Prescott was known not to be fit to play. Only the day before Dr. Bentley had refused to pass him for the game. Hence Drayne, even if a trifle out of condition, was still the best available man for left end.