“Get him, boys!” cried Morse Denton, the Freshman captain, and Jack Fitch, who was as fleet as some ends, was after the fleeing youth. He caught him in time to prevent a score being made, but the coach shook his head at the next line up.
“Heller, you go in at quarter to replace Wilson,” he said. “I am sorry,” the arbiter added, at the look of gloom on the face of Tom’s chum, “but fumbles are costly. I can’t afford to take any chances.”
Bert said nothing, but he knew that he was not altogether at fault, for the centre had not passed the ball accurately. Sam Heller, with a triumphant smile at Tom, went to quarter, and the game proceeded. But it was noticed that Sam, who was giving signals, and deciding on most of the plays, did not give Tom as many chances as when Bert had been in place behind the centre.
“You want to look out for Sam in the game to-morrow,” said Jack to Tom that night, when, after gruelling practice, the regular Freshmen had shoved the scrub all over the field.
“Why so?”
“Because I think he has it in for you. He’ll spoil your plays if he can, and he won’t give you a chance. Look out for him.”
“I will. But at the same time I don’t believe he’d do anything to spoil the chance of the team winning.”
“I wouldn’t trust him. At the same time he may do nothing worse than not give you a chance. It’s going to be a big game, I hear, and the fellow who makes good will be in line for the ’varsity next season.”
“I’ll watch out. Now let’s do something. Come on in Bert’s room. He feels bad about not playing to-morrow.”
“I know. But it’s forbidden to visit in other fellows’ rooms after hours.”