Off raced Dyer, Loring and Kapenhysen to the right, Dickenson and Mitchell plunging through ahead of them.
“Forward pass!” cried Broadwood again, and her whole team followed to where, ten yards back of the line, Yardley was bunched as though to receive the pass. No one but the Broadwood quarter saw Dan steal through outside of tackle unmolested, and he saw it too late. Kapenhysen had stopped in his flight to the right and had passed the ball, straight and swift to Capes, fifteen yards away across the field. Capes took a step or two, stopped and sped the ball forward in a low curve to Dan’s waiting hands. Back raced the Broadwood players, but too late. Dan was almost on the five-yard-line when the ball settled into his arms. With a quick turn [he] plunged to the right, eluded the oncoming Broadwood half, tore free from the quarter and [went staggering around the goal-post for a touchdown and victory].
The banquet was well along towards its close. The last plate had been pushed away, Loring, just elected captain for next year by acclamation, had made his little speech and now Payson had been called on. The coach laid down his napkin and arose, looking smilingly down the long table which, aglow with shaded candles, made an oasis of light in the darkened commons. Then he began to speak.
Dan, seated between Hill and Folwell, at the far end of the board, listened for a few moments. Then his thoughts wandered to the events of the day, to the note that Gerald had passed him outside the gymnasium door and which still lay unopened and until now forgotten in his pocket. He wondered what it could be. He drew it forth and broke the seal out of sight. The writing looked like Tubby’s atrocious fist, but—Why it was from Tubby! And what was this? Dan began at the beginning and read the note from end to end.
“Dear Dan: I’m off for home to-day. Don’t expect me back. You went and spoiled everything, you fool. It was I that did the decorations on Dudley. I wanted to get even with that ass Loring, and I would have if you hadn’t butted in and done the early Christian Martyr act. I’ve sent a note to Payson, so I guess he will let you play this afternoon. Hope you win. And I’ve left a note at the Office respectfully tendering my resignation. So they can’t fire me, you see. There was another fellow in with me on the painting act, but I won’t say who he is. Anyhow, it was my idea and I did the whole thing; he just watched. And I don’t want him to get into trouble over it, so you’d better keep mum about him. I guess I’ll try to make Broadwood after Christmas, if dad will let me go. Anyhow, I hope I’ll see you again some time before long. I’m glad to get out of this hole, you bet!
“Your friend,
“Harry L. Jones.
“P. S. I’m leaving my silver shoe-horn in the top bureau drawer. Maybe you’ll like to keep it. You can if you want. I wish you’d get my trunk down and pack my things for me. I’ll send for them in a few days. Good luck. Tubby.”
Tubby gone! Dan stared in amazement at the letter. And Tubby had done the painting. Well, he had suspected that. Poor old Tubby! He was sorry, real sorry, and he wished now that—