The captain of the Wolf Willow football team was awake and afoot soon after break of day that he might be in readiness for the Eagle Hill team when they arrived. Sam was in his most optimistic mood. His team, he knew, were in the finest condition and fit for their finest effort. Everything promised victory. But alas! for Sam's hopes. At nine o'clock a staggering blow fell when Vial, his partner on the right wing of the forward line, rode over with the news that Coleman, their star goal-keeper, their ultimate reliance on the defence line, had been stepped on by a horse and rendered useless for the day. It was, indeed, a crushing calamity. Sam spent an hour trying to dig up a substitute. The only possible substitutes were Hepworth and Biggs, neither of them first class men but passable, and Fatty Rose. The two former, however, had gone for the day to Calgary, and Fatty Rose was hopelessly slow. Sam discussed the distressing situation with such members of the team as could be hastily got together. “Dere's dat new feller,” suggested Joe. “That's so,” said Vial, familiarly known as Bottles. “That chap Sykes, Farwell's friend. He's a dandy dribbler. He could take Cassap's place on left wing and let Cassap take goal.” With immense relief the team accepted this solution of the difficulty. But gloom still covered Sam's face. “He's only been here two weeks,” he said, “and you know darn well the rule calls for four.” “Oh, hang it!” said Bottles, “he's going to be a resident all right. He's a real resident right now, and anyway, they won't know anything about it.” “Oh, cut it out,” said Sam, suddenly flaring into wrath. “You know we can't do that sort of thing. It ain't the game and we ain't goin' to do it.” “What ain't the game?” enquired Larry, who had come upon the anxious and downcast group. Farwell told him the calamitous news and explained the problem under discussion. “We'd play Sykes, only he hasn't been here a month yet, and Sam won't stand for it,” he said. “Of course Sam won't stand for it, and the Captain is right,” said Larry. “Is there nobody else, Sam?” Sam shook his head despondently. “Would I be any good, Sam? I am not keen about it, but if you think I could take Cassap's place on left wing, he could take goal.” Sam brightened up a little. “Guess we can't do no better,” he said doubtfully. “I mean,” he added in answer to the shout of laughter from the team--“Aw, shut up, can that cackle. We know the Master hates football an' this is goin' to be a real fightin' game. He'll get all knocked about an' I don't want that. You know he'll be takin' all kinds of chances.” “Oh, quit, Sam. I am in pretty good shape,” said Larry. “They can't kill me. That's the best I can do anyway, so let's get to them.”