“I can’t do it!” groaned McDowell, as the players tried to hearten each other during the intermission. “I’m not big enough. Put Hardie in.” As Dunn was out, there was nothing else to do. Hardie went in at left end, and fat Bumpus, who had lost in weight but gained in muscle and wind by his patriotic exertions on the field, relieved Kimball at guard. The team sallied forth once more, crestfallen but determined. Groton got the ball on Talbot’s kick-off, and tried the old trick of circling Westcott’s left end, but Hardie could not be disposed of, and the play came to grief. They bucked the centre, only to find big Bumpus sprawling effectually in the path. A forward pass found its way into Horr’s hands. Then Sumner gave the ball to Talbot, who discovered a hole where McDowell had failed to make one. Encouraged, he repeated the play and made the first down. A lucky forward pass which, to his great delight, fell into Hardie’s hands, saved Westcott’s at the next third down, and carried the ball to the centre of the field. Twenty yards farther they pressed, and then Talbot was forced to kick. Groton started on a return journey, which proved to be slow and frequently interrupted. A fumble by Westcott’s before the goal posts gave the home eleven the only score which they made during the second half. Roger Hardie felt very happy as he took his seat in the barge with his mates to drive to the station, for he knew, without regard to the compliments paid him by his polite opponents, that his chance had come and he had not missed it. The leaders, however, were in no exultant mood. Twenty-three to nothing is a big score for a coach and captain to swallow, especially when it is clear that two-thirds of it is due to avoidable errors. On the train Mr. Adams, who had accompanied the team, sat with Yards, Harrison, and Talbot in a double seat, and tried to point out signs of hope for the future in the day’s disaster. “I should like to suggest two changes,” he said at length, “which may help the team. One I think you will accept. The other I have my doubts about.” The trio looked at him expectantly. “Hardie should play regularly at left end,” went on the teacher. “His work to-day was almost equal to Harrison’s.” “Better, sir!” said Harrison, quickly. “We accept that suggestion on the spot, don’t we, Yards?” Yards nodded. “We ought to have had him there before. What’s the other suggestion,—Bumpus?” “No. Bumpus can take care of himself. I want to propose that you try McDowell at quarter. He’s out of place in the line, but he’s a good tackler, catches punts well, and has a good head.” Talbot looked at Yards, and Yards looked at Harrison, who pressed his lips together and looked at no one. There was an interval of silence. “I don’t see why he should be any better than Sumner!” said the captain, defiantly. “I don’t see how he could be any worse!” ejaculated Talbot. “I don’t urge it,” said Mr. Adams, kindly. “I merely suggest it for consideration.”