It was soon made clear to the two scouts why the boys at the other end of the seat were amused. For the rest of that half, Springdale used only the most ordinary, old-fashioned football. It was quite plain that the Springdale coach, either because he feared the two visitors might really learn something of use to them, or because he wanted to have a joke on them, had instructed the team to show nothing. Lanny and Chester exchanged amused glances when, on Weston’s twenty-yard line, with four to go on fourth down, Springdale chose to lose possession of the ball by a hopeless plunge at guard rather than make her distance by a trick play or even try for a field-goal. In the last quarter Springdale was hard pressed to keep her goal line from being crossed, for Weston, using every play in her programme, got as far as the six yards and might have gone over if, in her eagerness to score, she had not fumbled on the threshold. The game ended soon after that, the figures on the board unchanged, and Weston, possibly puzzled by her adversary’s strange choice of plays in the last half, but evidently well pleased at the outcome, trotted off with the airs of a victor, while a small group of supporters at the far end of the stand waved brown-and-white banners and cheered proudly! When Lanny and Chester arose to leave they found that their neighbors in the row were waiting for them to pass out ahead. With a slight frown, Lanny led the way, crowding past the youths, and Chester followed silently. As they passed, the enemy indulged in pointed remarks to each other. “Seen any spies about to-day, Hal?” “I thought I saw a couple of the things.” “Guess they didn’t learn much, eh?” “No, it’s a poor day for spies.” “Too bad to come all that way for nothing!” “Yes, isn’t it? Poor chaps, I’m sorry for them!” Lanny only smiled untroubledly, and Chester, trying to look quite as if he heard nothing, gazed intently at the back of Lanny’s head. But when he was squeezing his way past the last boy in the row a foot went out and Chester, stumbling, had to catch Lanny’s shoulder to keep from falling. Instantly he turned and confronted the grinning face beside him. “Don’t do that,” he said quietly, “or you’ll get hurt.” There was something in Chester’s countenance that silenced the retort on the Springdale youth’s lips, and it was not until Lanny and Chester were in the aisle and on their way down that the fellow’s courage returned. Then, raising his voice, he called: “You wouldn’t hurt anyone, you Clearfield spy!”