Tom Fairfield's Pluck and Luck; Or, Working to Clear His Name

now, boys

ig game. The regulars were to play against the scrub, and, as some of the positions were yet in dou

s, but Sam Heller, who, to do him credit, was a fairly good player, was not so

chap hadn't come butting in," declared Sam to

l have to get up something on Fair

ophs haven't done any hazin

ut the

myself, by rights, if old Hammond hadn't marked me low in maths. But hav

hazing after the football game. We

do Tom Fairfiel

than you do. He's got too many airs

ace in the scrub, which he did with no good grace, casting envious eyes at Bert Wilson, and with a fe

. "I want to see what sort of stuff you're made of.

determined to make as good a showing as possible. Back and forth the battle of the gridiron waged, with Tom jumping into eve

the first eleven, as they got the ball well do

e ball in passing it back from centre. A scrub player broke thro

was as fleet as some ends, was after the fleeing youth. He caught him in time t

rry," the arbiter added, at the look of gloom on the face of Tom's

eller, with a triumphant smile at Tom, went to quarter, and the game proceeded. But it was noticed that Sam, who was giving

Jack to Tom that night, when, after gruelling practice, t

y s

'll spoil your plays if he can, and he wo

n't believe he'd do anything to sp

not give you a chance. It's going to be a big game, I hear, and the

hing. Come on in Bert's room. He fe

den to visit in other fe

chances. "We've got to do something. It isn't

I hope we don't get caught. It might mea

her juggling act, and was only prevented by force on the part of Tom. There was a merry scuffle, and George Abbot cam

iet," declared Tom. "Cut

us survey of the hall, prepared to go to bed, ready for the big game on the morrow. Jack and Tom just escap

e day of the

up! Li

ere, El

way, H

Rah!

Toot!

of throats at the annual game between the Elmwood and Holwell sch

and both teams were out for practice. The crowds we

ll right," remarked Jack t

hope w

rvous. I only wish Bert was at

t be helped. I guess

ne

ractice balls called in. Elmwood was to kick off, and the new yellow pigskin was handed to

asked the

nswered bo

toe of the big centre met the ball squarely.

arted to return with it, well protected by interference, but

ood enthusiasts, and then the f

ll part in the life of Tom Fairfield. Sufficient to say that the gridiron battl

d the Elmwood captain, during t

's a change made," dec

do you

airfield isn't get

k!" excl

g shift plays, or place kicks, or forward passes, or fake kicks or something like that. Why can't we have some straight

s much as I saw pr

t!" declared

must be no personal feeling. Perhaps som

I'll give

ew to start th

ll do the trick, and win the ga

ourself, Tom,"

hy

you fumble the ball and spoil a play. Th

watc

ngs, with the best players making the most gains. The bal

the supporters of our hero's coll

hree, Elmwood! Eight-nin

the last chance, for the time was nearly up, and Tom had not been given a single

ck. Sam caught it fairly, and turned to pass it to the full-back. Then, that alwa

t!" yelled half a d

ine wavered.

ward him. He picked it up on the jump. In another moment Jack Fit

m!" yelled J

line. He hit it hard. It yielded. He went through with a rush, pushed by Jack and Joe

n at the sight of the fumble, and the chance to

anaged to retain his footing. He sho

eard hundreds yel

with panting breath, with a heart that seemed bursting, and with eyes that scarcely saw, he fell over the last line, and planted the ball between the

ds of voices. "Elmwood! E

d Jack in his chum's ear, as Tom got up, holding

m, scarcely able to breathe e