field toward Cavendish and added to the coach's dilemma by saying crisply, "You've had enough time out. Send in your substitute."
Harold renewed his attack. "Let me in!" he pleaded. "I can hold that ball. I can nail Tobey. I'll forward pass. I'll try the trick stuff. We can lick them yet! Let me in!"
The referee broke in again. "You have one minute to send in a substitute or else forfeit the game," he warned.
Cavendish looked around helplessly. Would he have to put the water boy in to run the team! He looked out on the field toward Trask. It was a cinch Trask wanted Lamb there. Well, there was nothing else to do!
He turned to Harold and bellowed, "Go in there then, you madman. And may the saints forgive me!"
Harold was off like a shot. He slapped the referee resoundingly on the back as the Union State quarterback was calling signals. The referee's whistle shrilled.
"Speedy" Lamb was in the game at last—fighting for Old Tate!
The Freshman turned to his teammates. He swept the battered and tired Tate line with fierce eyes. He yelled, "Come on, you old
