"Yah! I thought your team was such a much!" yelled an ardent Blue Hill supporter to some Kentfield cadets in the stand next to him.
"So it is," was the cool answer, though there was a sore heart back of it. "We never play our best until the other team gets a touchdown. That's the only look-in your fellows will have."
"Oh, it is; eh?" demanded the other with a hoarse laugh. "Well, just watch our boys rip you all to pieces from now on."
The goal was kicked, making the score six to nothing against our friends, and Dick saw dubious looks on the faces of his chums.
"This is nothing!" he cried gaily. "It's the only taste of the honey-pot that we'll let them have. Come on now, we've got time to make a touchdown this half."
Play was resumed after the kick-off, and an exchange of punts followed, both sides seeming willing to take this method of regaining their strength, which had been almost played out.
When Blue Hill got the ball after a series of brilliant kicks that had delighted the spectators, she once more began her rushing tactics. But either some of her men were careless, or they were too eager, for they got off side, and there was some slugging which the alert umpire saw, and as a penalty the ball went to Dick's side.
"Now rush it up," he called eagerly, and then began such a whirlwind attack that Blue Hill was fairly carried off her feet. Right up the field from her own thirty-five yard line did Dick's men carry the pigskin, until on Blue Hill's twenty yard mark the young millionaire decided for a try for a field goal. It was a magnificent attempt but failed, and before any more playing could be started the whistle blew, ending the half.
Rather dejectedly Dick and his team filed to the dressing rooms. The two coaches met them.
"It's all right! It's all right!" cried Mr. Spencer. "You boys couldn't do better. You haven't made any mistakes. Keep on the same way next half and you'll have them."