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 which it was capable. Even the attendance grew slim. The small covered grand stand that once had groaned under the weight of spectators, now showed tier after tier of empty seats.

And thus came the contest with Hastings, the biggest and most important game of the year, aside from the contest with Monroe.

"If there's one team that's made to order for us, if there's one team we can always beat," Jennings said with forced cheer, "it's Hastings."

The nine took the news gloomily.

"We'll beat Hastings and beat her with ease," Capt. Littlefield said fiercely.

None of the players made any comment. The practice was lifeless.

Jennings took to walking the streets of Northfield at night. "Must find a way to arouse them," ran continually in his tortured mind; "must find a way." And then as he shaved, the morning of the game, a plan—a desperate plan—came to him.

The school knew what the Owl had done, but had never been told the reason. Praska had not revealed what he had learned, not even to Littlefield and Hammond. He felt that defense of the Owl, coming from any of the citizens of Room 13, would have lost force. In some quarters there might be a tendency to question it, a sus-