"Blue murder!" exclaimed an agonized fellow, under his breath, as he cringed against the side of the car. "That's Coach now!"
"It can't be!" said Phil, punching Milt knowingly with his elbow. "What would Coach be doing out this time of night?"
There were the sounds of footsteps approaching.
"Make a break for it!" advised Milt, hoarsely.
"I can't," moaned Speed. "I—I'm caught—cold!"
"Well!" addressed Coach Brock, as he got within real hailing distance. "Is this the time for you to be turning in? Who are these chaps with you?... Oh, yes—I see. Doran and Gleeson. Where have you been?"
"It's all our fault, Coach," Phil spoke up. "Milt and I took Speed over to see the Rockne picture at Ashby and ... and our car broke down on the way back."
"I've heard that story before," was Coach Brock's unfeeling reply. "What did I tell you, Speed, about being in by ten o'clock?"
"But, sir ... I ... er ... it was unavoidable," stammered Medford's star half-back. "I fully intended ..."
"Sorry, Speed!" cut short the Coach, severely. "Orders are orders. I'd like to make an exception but this wouldn't be fair to the other members of the squad. From now on you're under suspension and this act removes you from the game on Saturday!"