"Story, Prince--"
"Here!" called the latter, jumping from his seat. Then a sharp, agonized cry followed, and Prince toppled over, clutching vainly at the air. The head coach paused. The doctor and the trainer pushed toward the fallen man, and a moment later the former announced quietly:
"He's fainted, sir."
"Can he go on?" asked the head coach.
"He is out of the question. Ankle's too painful. I couldn't allow it."
"Very well," answered the other as he amended the list. "Kingdon, Blair, March."
Joel's heart leaped as he heard his name pronounced, and he tried to answer.
"March?" demanded the head coach impatiently; and
"Here, sir!" gulped Joel, rushing to the door.
"All right," continued the head coach. "There isn't time for any fine phrases, fellows, and if there was I couldn't say them so that they'd do any good. You know what you've got to do. Go ahead and do it. You have the chance of wiping out a good many defeats, more than it's pleasant to think about. The college expects a great deal from you. Don't disappoint it. Play hard and play together. Don't give an inch; die first. Tackle low, run high, and keep your eyes on the ball! And now, fellows, three times three for Harwell!"