Jack Benjamin came home bruised in body and crushed in spirit. Paula met him at the door, and drew him into the sitting-room, where Inza and Miss Gale were.
"It's too bad, Jack!" cried his sister, her sympathetic heart wrung by the look of pain on his face. "I think it is just awfully mean that Harvard didn't win!"
"Harvard would have won if it hadn't been for that fellow, Frank Merriwell!" growled Benjamin. "I said he'd hoodoo us, and I was right. We can't down Yale at any game he is in. It's no use to try. Why, we out-classed Yale all around to-day, and still he won the game for them. That's what I call infernal luck!"
Inza repressed her elation, but something like a grim smile came to Miss Abigail's hard face.
"If Marline hadn't hurt his ankle, we'd been all right," declared Jack, as he sat with his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, looking down at the floor. "Rob is a good man, they say, but he could not have done the things Merriwell did. Why, hang it!" he suddenly cried, getting on his feet, sinking his hands deep in his pockets, and stamping around the room, "that fellow actually carried Woodbury, Stanton and Glim on his back for more than fifteen yards! They couldn't pull or crush him down. I wouldn't believe it possible if I hadn't seen it. He's a terror!"
Inza's eyes sparkled.
Paula followed Jack and took his arm.
"I hate him!" she cried. "I saw him pull you down, the big, strong ruffian!"
"Yes," nodded Jack, "and a pretty tackle it was. He didn't pile upon me like a wooden man, but his hands went down to my ankles and flipped me in a second. If he'd bungled the least bit, I'd made a touchdown. Oh, he is a terror!"
"But I hate him!" persisted Paula. "I was so sure you would make a touchdown. What right had he to grasp you that way and throw you so hard?"