"We never could have won but for you!" admitted the captain. "Wow! but it was a fierce game!" and he sat down on the grass to recover his wind, after his lusty cheers.
They escorted Dick back to the dressing room in a sort of triumphal procession, scores of cadets pouring from the stands to join it. Never did a hero takes his honors more modestly. It was enough for Dick that he had helped win the victory, and he saw coming to him now what he had waited nearly a year for—fellowship.
Through the throng came Dutton and Glen.
"I say, Hamilton," called Glen, "your uncle's waiting for you."
"I know it," answered Dick. "But I couldn't talk to him until after the game."
"He's got news for you—bad news," went on Glen, with the relish some persons seem to take in telling of calamities.
"What is it?" inquired Dick, alarmed by the cadet's words and manner.
"Your father's fortune is wiped out, and so's yours! The New York bank has failed!"
For an instant Dick stared at the speaker. Then a changed look came over his face. He stepped forward, his suit covered with dirt, his face bleeding from a scratch, and still panting from his great run.
"My fortune lost?" he said. "I don't care a hang! We've won the game!"
There was a moment of silence, so surprised
