“No,” was the response, “I don’t want any row here to-day. Just let me see the half dollar that was used for the toss.”
“You’ve seen it.”
With that Guffey arose from his crouching position, and, with a scowl, moved off to another place. Frank knew that the fellow was guilty. He had seen Frank eying the plugged coin when it dropped in front of him, and he had reasoned that he might have recognized it. Frank’s request to see the silver piece was further proof to Guffey that he had developed a suspicious interest in it. Hence, Guffey’s motive for substituting another half dollar for the right one.
Ophir, after the touchback, had elected to put the pigskin in scrimmage, on the twenty-five yard line, but was soon back at its old punting tricks. Gold Hill’s right half, Poindexter by name, misjudged the ball. As it slipped from the ends of his fingers, he was pushed aside by an Ophir lad, who got it under him on Gold Hill’s forty-yard line.
Ophir went wild. The stands fairly roared, hats were tossed in the air, and yells and cheers made the whole place a pandemonium.
“What’s up between Guffey and you, Chip?” queried Clancy, in Merriwell’s ear.
“Why?” returned Merry. “What makes you think there’s anything up, Clan?”
“Blazes! Why, I can’t help but see when it’s going on right under my eyes.”
“Watch the game, Clan,” said Merry. “If I have to leave the field, you stand by to send in the substitutes.”
“Look here,” muttered the excited Clancy, “you don’t intend to clear out before the game’s over, do you?”