"Dick's coming up, all right," proudly muttered Darrin to Hudson, while the next snapback was forming. "It's putting nerve into all of us," rejoined Hudson. The pigskin was only fourteen yards from the Filmore goal line when Captain Wadleigh's men had to see the ball go to Filmore. Pike's men, however, failed to make good on downs, so the oval came back into Wadleigh's possession. Now, the play was swift and brilliant. Dick got the ball around the left end once, and afterwards assisted Dave to put it through the hostile line. With the third play Dick carried the pigskin barely across Filmore's goal line and scored a touchdown. Darrin immediately after made a kick for goal. The score now stood eight to six for Filmore but only ten minutes of playing time remained. "Our fellows have saved a whitewash, and that's all," reflected Drayne. "They'd have done better with me, and I guess Wadleigh knows it by this time." "Slug's the word," Pike passed around, swiftly. "No fouling, but use your weight, dash and speed. Slam these Gridley rubes. Hammer em!" "Come on, now Gridley!" rang the imploring request from the home boosters, who were now too restless to keep to their seats. "Remember your record so far this season!" "Forceful playing, but keep cool. Use your Judgment to the last, and put a lot of speed and doggedness behind your science," was Wadleigh's adjuration. Those who followed form most close, now had their eyes on young Prescott. If he went to pieces that would leave Gridley weak at what had usually been its strongest point, especially in attack. And Gridley had the ball again. But what ailed Captain Wadleigh, the boosters wondered? For he was now sending the ball to the right wing, as if admitting that Prescott must not be worked too hard. "Use Prescott!" shouted one man hoarsely. "Prescott! Prescott!" "Yah! Dot's all right. Vot you t'ink Wadleigh has ein head for' Leafe him und Bresgott alone, and dey hand you der game a minute in!" bawled the deep bass voice of Herr Schimmelpodt who, nearly alone of the Gridley boosters, believed that the home team needed no grand stand coaching. "But they've only eight minutes left," grumbled the man sitting to the left of Herr Schimmelpodt. "Yah! Dot's all right, too," retorted the German. "Battles haf been won in less than eight minutes. Read history!" In two plays Captain Wadleigh had succeeded in advancing the pigskin less than two yards down the Filmore territory. But now hats were thrown up in the air, and frantic yells resounded when it was discovered that Dick had the ball again, and that Darrin, Hudson, Wadleigh, quarter and left half were fighting valiantly to push him through the stubborn, panting line of Filmore High School. It was a splendid fight, but a losing one. Filmore was massing all its weight, wind and brawn, and Gridley lost the ball on downs. An involuntary groan went up from the Gridley spectators.