encountered catastrophe. For Harold, impatient of an invitation, had decided to have a go at the tackling dummy. He set himself, launched out into as fast a sprint as his tight borrowed shoes would permit, hurled himself at the dangling dummy and hit—empty space and then the ground with a resounding whack. For Hughie Mulligan, with his back to Harold, had chosen that instant to pull the dummy up to the top of its crossbar preparatory to stowing it away for the day.
Harold gasped for a moment, the wind temporarily knocked out of him, striving to gather just what had gone wrong. He looked up from the sprawling posture into the glowering, unshaven face of Mike Cavendish. Mike snorted with disgust, but he didn't say a word. Instead the coach walked over to Chester Trask.
"Listen, Cap," he exploded to Chester in low, tense tones. "Get this right at the start! I kidded myself into giving this crazy Freshman, Lamb, leg room around this field. Now he's started goin' nutty again. Just threw himself at my feet and tried to knock me down! That guy may have the spirit, but he sure lacks the brains. Now, we may need some comedy relief around here, but I'm not goin' to have that nut gettin' under people's legs and gummin' the works. No, sir! It'll just
