"Did they make the touchdown?" asked Tom.
"Yes, it took them four downs, but they finally got the ball over, and that put the score 14 to 10. We still thought we had the game, and we played for time and stalled all they'd let us. But, shucks, that Grosfawk didn't know he was licked. Of course we laid for him and he got used sort of hard, but with only a couple of minutes left we didn't pay so much attention to him as we should have. So what does he do but pull the same stunt? This time he only had about fifty yards to go, and we made him earn them by chasing him back and forth across the field two or three times. I nearly had him once myself. So did most of the others. He got tired of reversing the field after a while. Maybe he was afraid the whistle might go off by accident before he got the touchdown. Anyway, he streaked it through our whole bunch just when it seemed we had him, with two or three of his team interfering by then, and dodged our quarter and went over right between the posts. Well, that spilled the beans good and plenty. Why, we had that old game in our pocket five minutes before! We—we'd even spent it! I guess we were just about the sorriest, saddest, most disgustedest bunch you ever saw that evening!"
Tom chuckled. "Good thing for you fellows Bingham and I came along, I guess. You need some one to look after you and see that those naughty Wolcott boys don't steal your games. Mighty lucky, I'd say, they didn't take the uniforms off you fellows when you weren't looking!"
