“Hurrah, Tom! You’re at left-end!” cried Phil, who, with his chum, was reading the bulletin.
“I’m glad of it. Are you all right for practice?”
“Sure. Come on; let’s get into our togs.”
On the outer fringe of football players stood Langridge and Gerhart. There was surprise on their faces at the sight of Phil getting ready to play.
“Something went wrong,” whispered Langridge to his crony. “Your scheme didn’t work.”
“I see it didn’t,” admitted Gerhart with a scowl. “I wonder where the slip was?”
But when he heard of the peculiar ailment from which Sid Henderson suffered, Gerhart knew.
“I lost that chance,” he said to Langridge, “but I may see another to get square with Clinton, and, when I do, I’ll not fail. It’s too late, maybe, for me to get in the game now, but I’ll put him out of it, and don’t you forget it!”
Phil was a little stiff in practice, but he soon warmed up, and the ’varsity eleven played the scrub “all over the field.”