"I wish there was," answered the captain. "Of course you will have the same chance as the other subs, and if the fight is as rough as I expect it will be, we may be playing all of you before it's over." "Then I can't go in at the opening?" "I don't see how you can very well. Of course I haven't it all to say. Why don't you go see the coaches?" "What good would that do. They're in your pay, and----" "That will do!" cried Dick sharply, and Porter knew enough to stop that sort of talk. He turned away, a bitter look on his face and a bitter feeling in his heart. "I'll get even with you yet," he muttered. "I'll fix you and your football team, Dick Hamilton!" Dick was like some anxious mother the night before the game. He went to the rooms of each of his players and saw that they were in. Inquiries as to how they felt met with the reply that they were all "fit." Paul Drew seemed himself again, and assured Dick that he was ready to do battle with their common foe. "Wouldn't it be great if we could shut them out altogether?" he asked exultingly. "After the fuss they made about not wanting to play us, and the record they've made, if we could bar them from crossing our line--wouldn't it be immense?" "'Dreams--idle dreams,'" quoted Dick with a smile. "I shouldn't ask anything better, but I'm afraid they're too strong for us. Why they came within an ace of beating Haskell the other day." "That was on a fumble." "I know, but fumbles count in football. No, if we beat them by a good score I'll be satisfied, even if they cross our line." It was the day of the great game, a great game in the sense that Kentfield had made a record for herself in a remarkably short time under the skillful coaching of Mr. Martin and Mr. Spencer, and because she was to meet a foe who had despised her--meet a team that, hitherto had not considered our cadet heroes worthy of their steel. In a sense it was a triumph for Kentfield even before the game was started. As for Dick he was modestly proud. There was a record-breaking crowd in attendance, for the word had gone around among lovers of football that Kentfield was putting up a great game, and the grandstands that in years past had held only a scattering throng, now overflowed. "We'll be able to pay all our debts and close the season with a balance," exulted the manager and treasurer together. "I'd rather win this game and lose every dollar!" cried Dick, as he ran to join his comrades on the gridiron. Blue Hill was to kick off, and after the preliminary arrangements the pigskin was "teed" in midfield and there came a hush while each captain looked to see if his men were all placed. "Are you ready?" came the call. "Ready," answered Dick. "Ready," answered Ford Haskell, the Blue Hill captain. The whistle blew, and hardly had the echoes died away than there sounded the soul-stirring "ping" and the toe of Tod Kester's shoe dented the leather as the big centre sent the ball well into the territory of our friends.