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 was almost eleven o'clock when the conference broke up, and after the others had gone Dick remained until nearly midnight at the parlor table. Once he took up a blue-book, fourteen of whose thirty-two pages were decorated with weird plans from the brain of Fudge Shaw, and examined the contents attentively. But in the end he laid it down with a sigh. Fudge's plays were all old, true and tried. He had utterly failed to show any of that ingenuity which he lavished on his stories, Dick reflected. After that he took up his own plays and studied them frowningly, seeking to discover the weak points in each. Later still, he put his hands behind his head, leaned back in his chair and gazed tiredly and discouragedly at the green-shaded lamp. In spite of his hopeful attitude before the others, he was in reality pretty low in spirits to-night. It was, he told himself ruefully, all very well to talk glibly of changing the plan of battle at the eleventh hour, but would any new plan work out? As matters stood now Springdale possessed a stronger and much heavier line, an equally fast and slightly heavier backfield and an equally good punting department. She was trained by an experienced coach who had been with the team for several years and who had