In truth, Sumner had the advantage over Mac in some respects. He was heavier, he got into the plays better, and he profited by his close study of the game from the side-lines. The team reacted to a fresh voice, while Sumner’s strength, applied at the critical instant, helped to break the resistance and roll the wedge along. Outside guard, outside tackle, around the end, changing his attack from side to side, Sumner pushed his backs to a first down, to another, to a third. Then, when the Trowbridge secondary defence concentrated close behind the line, he worked a forward pass himself, running backward to make sure of his throw, and delivering the ball safely into Tracy’s hands. Westcott’s was on the Trowbridge ten-yard line, pressing hotly forward, when the referee’s whistle put an end to the game. Mac lingered on the side-lines, waiting for an opportunity to congratulate Sumner on his playing. As they walked together to the dressing rooms, escorted by a half-dozen admiring youngsters, the injured quarter forgot to limp. Close by the entrance Yards accosted them. “You ran the team finely, Sumner,” he exclaimed, with radiant face. Then, suddenly recalling Mac’s misfortune, he turned upon him and demanded, “How’s that ankle?” “It seems all right now,” replied Mac, with an abrupt lapse from his gayety. Yards gave him a sharp glance, and his eyes darkened ominously. “I believe you—” he began, but the beseeching look on Mac’s face checked him. “I’m glad it’s no worse,” he finished lamely. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER XV DUNN’S DISAPPOINTMENTS