"Fellows, this is your last chance," declared Coach Martin, the day previous to the great Haskell game. "Make good now and——"
"To-morrow," put in Mr. Spencer with a smile. "And don't forget that you're going to win!"
In spite of a slight pain in his ankle, Dick never ran the team to better advantage than he did in practice that day.
"Oh, for to-morrow!" he exclaimed to Paul in their room that night.
What crowds there were! They overflowed the grandstands and surged upon the space around the Kentfield gridiron. They stood several deep along the ropes stretched to keep them back, and still they poured through the entrance gates to the delight of the cadets.
"We'll make some money all right off this game!" exulted Manager Hatfield. "And we need it, even if we have a millionaire on the team."
"No, we can't expect Dick to do it all," said Paul.
"He's mighty good to hire the coaches," commented George Hall. "Oh, say, if we can only win! Has the Haskell bunch arrived yet?"
"No, but they'll soon be here. Come on, our fellows are going to get in practice."
Out on the field trotted the Kentfield eleven, with the score of substitutes, wrapped, Indian-like in blankets, squatting on the side lines, until such time as they would be needed to form some opposition for the Varsity.