Yardley’s first chance to score came within three minutes of the kick-off, after Forest Hill’s quarter had fumbled on the second play and Stark had fallen on the ball near the twenty-yard line. But although the Blue worked down to within twelve yards of the goal, the attack weakened and the pigskin changed hands. Forest Hill kicked on first down and the play went to the middle of the field. And about the middle of the field, with small advantage to either side, it stayed for the rest of the twelve-minute period, with neither team being able to gain much ground. A minute or two before the whistle sounded The Duke carelessly arose, yawned, stretched and wandered away down the line. Now and then he paused to look back at the play or to speak to an acquaintance, but presently, having left the grand stand far behind, he doubled back and hurried around between the stand and the tennis[139] courts, reappearing at the entrance just as the two teams, donning blankets, paused for the two-minute intermission. The Duke pushed his way through the throng with an important air and faced the sloping tiers.
“Mr. Gibson wanted at the telephone!” announced The Duke loudly. “Is Mr. Gibson here?”
Without appearing to look in his direction The Duke saw the Broadwood fellow start in his seat, look indecisively down and settle back again.
“Mr. Gibson wanted at the ’phone!” he continued, passing along in front of the stand. “Mr. Gibson wanted at the ’phone immediately. Is Mr. Gibson here?”
The fellows took up the cry. “Is Mr. Gibson here? O you Mr. Gibson! Show yourself, Gib! There he goes! Here he is! Who wants Gibson? I don’t! O you Mr. Gibson!”
At the first aisle a tall, broad-shouldered youth in a derby hat was picking his way down as unostentatiously as possible. The Duke turned back and met him as he reached the ground.
“Is your name Gibson?” he asked. The other nodded. “You’re wanted at the ’phone. I’ll show you where it is.”
Followed by the youth in the derby, The Duke pushed his way through the crowd about the entrance.[140] Back of him a whistle shrilled and the teams lined up once more.
“Do you know who wants me?” asked Gibson as they started up the path.
“I couldn’t say,” replied The Duke. “Nice day for the game, isn’t it? You’re a Forest Hill fellow, aren’t you?”
“Hm,” responded the other noncommittally. “Where is this telephone?”
“Oxford,” replied The Duke, leading the way around the front of the gymnasium and thereby lengthening the journey. “It’s right around the corner here.” A burst of cheering came from the field below them and Gibson looked regretfully over his shoulder.
“Those are your fellows cheering,” said The Duke. “I shouldn’t wonder if you beat us to-day. How many of you came along?”
“Er—quite a number; forty or fifty, I guess. This the building?”
“Next,” said The Duke, conducting the visitor past Merle. “Here we are.” They went up the steps of Oxford and The Duke led the way down the dim and silent corridor to the telephone booth. Politely he opened the door and, Mr. Gibson once inside, politely and very carefully he closed it. The click of the lock was simultaneous with the lifting of the receiver from the hook.
[141]
“Hello! Hello! This is Mr. Gibson.... What say?... Gibson!...”
 
“‘Hello! Hello! This is Mr. Gibson.... What say?’”
The Duke, stealing softly down the corridor, heard no more. At the doorway he cast a fleeting glance back at the booth. Then he slipped from sight. Halfway back to the field he paused and did an erratic breakdown, with much snapping of fingers and many loud chuckles. Then, pulling his features back into their former innocence of expression, he went on. He reached the gridiron at an exciting moment and had seated himself between Gerald and Harry before his fellow-conspirators realized his return. Then,
“All right?” whispered Gerald.
The Duke, supremely interested in the game, closed one eye slowly and portentously. Gerald grinned. Harry hugged a foot ecstatically. “Like a sheep to the slaughter,” whispered The Duke gloatingly. “Oh, what do you suppose he’s saying to Central?”
“How long will he stay there?” asked Harry.
“Until he gets out. There’s no one in the Office on Saturday afternoons. Anyway, they couldn’t hear him—unless he broke a window and yelled like sixty. Did you tell Perky?”
“Yes, and they’ve worked a couple of the new plays already.”
[142]
“Tried to, you mean,” corrected Harry gloomily. “They didn’t gain much.”
“Anyone scored?” asked The Duke.
“Not yet. No one’s had a chance. Kendall tried a placement from the forty-five yards and missed by a yard. Too bad. He had the wind with him, too.”
“Pete made a rotten pass, though,” said Gerald. “Simms had to scramble for it. It’s a wonder they got the kick off at all. There’s the whistle. Half’s over.”
As the players seized their blankets and trotted off the field Davis hurried up to the trio beside the rope.
“What did you do with him?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Do with him? With who?” asked The Duke innocently.
“Gibson.”
“Perky, you jump to conclusions,” returned The Duke calmly. “If anything has been done to Mr. Gibson you shouldn’t lay it to me. I have nothing but the kindest, sweetest sentiments toward the gentleman.”
“Oh, chop it! Is he—is he safe?”
“Oh, I do hope so!” replied The Duke. “Don’t tell me that anything has happened to him, Perky!”
[143]
“Quit kidding,” begged Davis. “I want to know. Can we go ahead with the new plays, Duke? Will he be back?”
“Blessed if I know. I know he isn’t here now, but there’s no telling how long he’s going to stay away. Tell you what, Perky. I’ll stand at the entrance and keep watch. If I see him coming back I’ll pass the word to you and you can tell Payson.”
“All right. I’ll tell Payson that. Don’t miss him, though.”
“Nary a miss, Perky!”
The Duke, followed by Gerald and Harry, went to take up a position at the corner of the grand stand and Davis scurried off to the gymnasium in the wake of the team. The Duke, hands in pockets, wandered outside and viewed the path. But save for the players trotting up the steps of the gymnasium and Davis speeding to overtake them no one was in sight.
“Look here,” said Gerald, who had been studying the situation in his mind, “what that fellow will do is to tell Central that he’s locked up in the booth. Then Central will telephone to Merle or Clarke and they’ll let him out. We didn’t think of that.”
The Duke frowned. “That’s so,” he acknowledged. “And it’s dollars to doughnuts Central[144] will get Collins on the ’phone and then there will be the dickens to pay!”
&ldqu............