The Ghost of Danny Frayne

Exciting Sports, Winter (January) 1944

THE GHOST OF DANNY FRAYNE By JOHNSTON McCULLEY

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HRILLING through the haze of the late autumn afternoon, the strident whistle of Coach Bill Marian brought to an immediate end the friendly brawl between the first team of Weldon College and the scrubs. The rapidity with which the men on the field stopped action revealed that they had been waiting for the sound of the whistle and hoping it would come soon. From where he was standing on the sideline with Ed Danley, the veteran

trainer of Weldon, Marlan looked upon his team and failed to find it good. The difference between the first string men and the scrubs was so slight that it was almost pathetic. “And that’s the sorry bunch of wouldbe gridiron heroes you have to send on the field tomorrow for the annual battle with Hemdale, our hated rival,” Ed Danley said. “Yep, that’s the bunch,” Marlan agreed. “What a gang! Some of ‘em ought to

THE GHOST OF DANNY FRAYNE be sittin’ in their wheelchairs knittin’ socks for soldiers, and the rest should be hobblin’ around on their crutches,” Danley declared. “I’ve seen plenty of cripples in my time. I’ve grown wrinkled and gray trainin’ college athletes. But never before have I seen a so-called football squad—” “I know,” Marlan interrupted. “But you’re forgetting one thing, Ed.” “What’s that? If it’ll brighten the picture any, tell me quick.” “Hemdale is in the same fix as Weldon. The war has taken all the first string men from both schools, and most of the second string men as well,” Marlan reminded him. “And if all the horses in a race are slow, it can still be a tight race.” “If you look at it that way, maybe it’s not so bad,” Danley admitted, grinning.

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OACH MARLAN waved his hand at the squad waiting for his orders. “Hit the showers!” he shouted. “We’ll have some skull practice after you get dressed. And that’ll be all until you go out on the field tomorrow afternoon.” The men began moving toward the mouth of the runway which led to the dressing rooms. They didn’t trot off the field with a show of spirit. They merely shuffled along, a weary bunch. None of the exuberance so much desired by a coach was apparent in their manner. They seemed to have an utter lack of enthusiasm. Coach Marlan shook his head slowly from side to side as he watched. For years, Weldon College and Hemdale University had fought on the gridiron at the close of the season. It was the one game on the schedule that both teams particularly wanted to win. The other games were considered as nothing more than preparatory training events for the annual big clash.

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The towns of Weldon and Hemdale were only twenty miles apart, and were connected by an electric interurban line. So the game this year would have a good attendance regardless of wartime gasoline rationing. The gridiron battle between the two schools would be fought as usual, with the exception that the football heroes of the year before would not be there to receive the plaudits of the crowd. The armed services had claimed all the football stars of the two schools. They were fighting Nazis and Japs now, playing the dangerous game with the same sportsmanship they had displayed in athletics. They were fighting to keep their country a place where boys and girls could go to college, study what they liked, and fit themselves for life in the line of work they selected. But football had to go on, even with only scrubs and cripples on the teams. It was good for national morale, and no goggle-eyed Hitler or slant-eyed Hirohito could prevent it. Bill Marlan picked up a discarded sweater some player had left on a bench, and Ed Danley, a broken headgear, and they walked slowly toward the dressingrooms. “Maybe I’d better check the boys over extra well,” Danley said, grinning again. “One of ‘em might have a skinned little finger, or somethin’ equally dangerous.” “They’ve got through the season pretty well so far,” Marlan reminded him. “Yeah? Few have played in two games in succession. And this is the big game. That’s on their minds.” “We’ll get along,” the coach said. “If I had your faith, I’d move a few mountains,” Danley remarked. “Our backfield looks like a delegation from an old man’s home.” “None of them over twenty-five.”

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EXCITING SPORTS “I mean the way they move,” Danley explained. “And the line is as full of holes as a chunk of real Swiss cheese. What the game needs is a good broken field runner, ‘cause the field will be broken, all right.” “Hemdale will be the same.” “A broken field runner would help a lot.” “You’re thinking of Danny Frayne again,” Marlan said. “Right!” Danley confessed. “What a sweet football player he was last year. He’d be with us now, if it wasn’t for the war.” Coach Marlan’s eyes grew misty. “Danny Frayne saw his duty, and did it,” he said. “He took up naval aviation and earned his commission as ensign.” “And was shot down over one of the jungles down New Guinea way,” Danley added. “Missin’ in action. Never heard from again, and it was three months ago. The greatest right half the country ever saw. Mentioned for the All American.”

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ARLAN’S face took on a gloomy expression. “Let’s not talk about Danny,” he begged. “I about loved that boy. Anyhow, let’s not talk about him. The men on the squad need all our attention.” “Yeah,” Danley agreed. “Who are you goin’ to start in his place tomorrow?” “Anyone of half a dozen,” Marlan replied. “But at the right moment I’m going to throw in a man who may turn in something for us. Harry Boake.” “Boake’s weak, slow. He’s not fast enough.” “He and Danny Frayne were closer than brothers, and Boake is engaged to Danny’s sister, Laura. Boake has been trying to get into the service and avenge Danny. But he’s a chemistry shark, and the Government thinks he’d better keep on

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with laboratory experiments a little longer.” “What makes you think Harry Boake could do anything for us tomorrow at right half?” “Psychology,” Marlan replied. “I’m depending a lot on that with the whole team. They’ll be out there fighting for the memory of Danny Frayne. Hemdale hasn’t any such motive.” “You mean they’ll be playing on their nerve?” “Something like that,” Marlan admitted. “They’ll be determined to win, for Danny Frayne. And who could be more determined than the man who was his closest friend and is engaged to his sister? Let’s stop talking about it now, for the team may sense it. Here we are at the dressing-rooms.” When coach and trainer entered the big room, most of the squad were more or less dressed. They continued dressing, but watched Marlan in silence. The coach paced around while Danley examined a couple of ankles and a bad shoulder. When all the men were dressed, Marlan stood in front of them with arms akimbo and the usual severe look on his face. “Tomorrow afternoon, you meet Hemdale,” he said. “I want a win, and I expect you to hand one to me. They’re no better than you are. Don’t give me any of that inferiority complex stuff! Hit the training table heavy tonight, then relax, drift around the campus, and be in the hay on time. That’s all. We won’t discuss plays now. I’ll give my orders when you start tomorrow.” He gestured, and some of the squad started to leave the room. “Let’s have a little snap!” Marlan barked. “You’re alive, you know.” Marlan could have bitten off his tongue for that a split second later. He had

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THE GHOST OF DANNY FRAYNE said the wrong thing. “We’re alive—and Danny Frayne isn’t,” Harry Boake said, softly. Marlan whirled toward him. Boake was tall, thin, nervous. Under ordinary conditions, he never would have made the football team. He was the studious type, the grind. But he had gone to Marlan and asked to come out for football this season. He had a vague idea of stepping into Danny Frayne’s shoes in a measure. Marlan had put him on the squad, and Boake had worked hard. He had played in a few games like a man in a frenzy. “Right!” Marlan snapped now. “You said it, Boake. You’re alive, and Danny isn’t. But maybe, wherever Danny is, he’ll be watching the team tomorrow. Go on the field and win—for Danny Frayne. Take that thought along with you. Now, get out of here! Forget football until time to get into your playing togs tomorrow.” The men left, showing a little more snap. Marlan and Danley eyed each other. “Maybe you’ve got somethin’, Bill,” the trainer said. “I was watchin’ their eyes as they went out.” “Maybe I have,” Marlan replied. “Just the same, I’m glad that Big Pete Kaller won’t be in the Hemdale lineup tomorrow.”

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HE COACH scowled. “What’s the latest news on Kaller?” Marlan asked. “He played in a couple of games early in the season, and I’ve heard he’s kept in training.” “Maybe he’s keepin’ tough for the Army,” Danley replied. “Big Pete thinks he can win the war all by himself. I heard he checked in with his draft board and tried to get a commission in the Specialists’ Corps.” “He would,” Marlan observed. “Did he get it?”

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“I heard he passed an examination and got an okay. He’s probably on his way to a trainin’ camp now, or already there.” “Big Pete could wreck our team,” Marlan said, as they separated. Kaller had been the big man of the Hemdale team for two seasons. He was the only regular on either team not already in uniform. He was arrogant, domineering, and known to be rather unscrupulous. He wasn’t liked, even by his team mates, but there was no question about him being a great fullback. The year before, Kaller had almost won the game for Hemdale. It had been Danny Frayne who had stopped him. Then, Danny had turned in a last-minute broken field run of seventy yards to score a winning touchdown. Harry Boake was thinking of Kaller, too, as he ate the evening meal at the training table. He almost hated Kaller because the latter had made disparaging remarks about Danny Frayne being a glory hunter. Kaller had shown an interest in Laura Frayne, too, and his ego had been shattered when she had ignored his attentions. He had made some slighting remarks about the girl by way of revenge. Danny Frayne had been called into service before he could bring Kaller to account for that, and Boake had not met him since. Boake was half wishing that Kaller would be in the game, so he could clash with him once at least, and try to hurl him into the dirt, though they carried Boake off the field afterward. “Let’s take a walk,” a voice at Boake’s elbow said. Boake turned quickly to find Jim Bailey, who played right end, standing there, Next to Danny Frayne, Jim Bailey had been Boake’s best friend since freshman days. “All right, Jim,” Boake said. They went out into the soft dusk to

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EXCITING SPORTS stroll around the campus. “What the coach said—about Danny— I know how it hit you, Harry,” Jim Bailey said. “It hit all of us. We’ll try to turn in a win for Danny, huh?” “We’ll do it!” Boake declared. “I’ll be there to help. We’ll deliver the goods around right end.” Unconsciously, Boake had headed along Sorority Row, and Jim Bailey smiled. He was well acquainted with the romance between Harry Boake and Laura Frayne. That, too, had started in their freshman year. Boake, Danny and Laura had been inseparable. Now that Frayne was gone, Boake and Laura looked to each other for sympathy. Laura was on the porch of her sorority house, and she came down the steps to greet them. “You warriors should be in bed,” she told them. “Too early,” Jim Bailey replied. “I hope the team wins tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll win,” Boake declared. “We’re fighting for Danny.” “I know.” Laura put her hand on his shoulder. “Harry, Danny was my brother. I always looked upon him as a hero. I know how you loved him, and how his death grieved you. Naturally, it grieved me, terribly. But he died like a man, and we should be proud and hold up our heads. Let’s try not to feel bad any more. Let’s just remember him as we knew him. Danny wouldn’t want his death to ruin our lives.” “I guess you’re right,” Boake, confessed.

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E UNDERSTOOD what she meant. They had planned an early marriage. After the report of Frayne’s death, Boake had called that off. He wanted to get into uniform and avenge

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Danny, and he didn’t think it would be fair to Laura to marry her and march away, possibly never to return. He faced the problem thousands of young men were facing. The Army officials had told him frankly that he would make only an ordinary soldier, but that he could be of great value in the chemical research division if he finished his college course this year. He had tried for aviation, as Danny Frayne had done, and had been rejected quickly. But he still had hopes of getting into some combat division. Laura Frayne reached up and kissed him quickly. The presence of Bailey did not stop her, for he had been a pal of all three, and knew all about them. “We must get back to training quarters,” Boake said. “Good night, then. I’ll be watching tomorrow,” Laura replied. “Good night, Jim.” “Laura’s got a lot of common sense,” Bailey said, as he walked away beside Boake. “You should marry her now, so you can live your lives together, and hold Danny’s memory together. I think Danny would want it.” “But suppose I finally get into uniform?” Boake asked. “Suppose I’m a casualty?” “She’d have memories, at least.” “Suppose I come back maimed?” “Thousands of others are taking the chance,” Jim Bailey reminded him. “Think it over, after the game.” Every man in the squad was nervous the following morning. Marlan called them out for a short warming-up practice and looked them over, then sent them back to their quarters. And there they settled down to kill time until they were called to get to the stadium and dress for the game. It was Ed Danley, their grizzled trainer, who came rushing in with the bad

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THE GHOST OF DANNY FRAYNE news. “The dirty skunk!” Danley was roaring. “That’s what he is, and I’d tell him so to his face, if he smashed me for it.” “What’s troubling you?” Jim Bailey asked, laughing. “You look mad enough to bite somebody.” “I am mad,” Danley confessed. “What I’ve got to tell you lads will make you mad, too. Maybe it’ll make you so fightin’ mad that you’ll go out there today and smash Hemdale. Big Pete Kaller, the demon fullback, will be in the Hemdale lineup this afternoon.” “What?” the members of the squad howled, in chorus. Every man sprang to his feet. It was like saying that a man with a machine gun was about to open fire on them. “But Kaller’s not eligible,” Jim Bailey said. “He’s in the Army. You’re all steamed up about nothing, Danley.” “So I’m all steamed up about nothin’? The cuss planned it. He worked it somehow to get himself kept in college until the first of the year, and then report for trainin’. He’s been plottin’ all season to smash Weldon in this game. He’s boastin’ about it, and thinks he’s been clever. You know what it means? He’s good—no deny in’ it. He’s experienced. He’s in prime physical condition. He’s a one-man team.” “We know all that,” Bailey cut him short. “He’d have won for Hemdale last season, if it hadn’t been for Danny Frayne,” Danley resumed. “And the skunk has been placin’ big bets on Hemdale through bettin’ commissioners, money he got from his rich Dad. He’s no good! Every time he gets out in the open carryin’ the ball today, he’ll mow his way right through to the goal line.” “Maybe not,” Harry Boake said,

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quietly. “Kaller is playing a dirty game, if all you’ve said is true, and we’ll be fighting to turn in a win for Danny Frayne.”

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NGRILY the trainer faced the team. “I don’t know what the coach is goin’ tell you,” Danley said. “But I’m tell, you to smash him every chance you get. He’s got it comin’ to him. I like lads to be clever and smart, yes. But I don’t like college lads to be dirty. I’ve worked with college lads a good many years, and I’ve found few dirty ones. And Big Pete Kaller is dirty. No sportsmanship. Takin’ advantage of a situation. A skunk!” “That’s enough, Danley.” The quiet voice of Coach Bill Marlan came to them from the doorway. “Boys, I see Danley has told you the news,” Marlan continued. “Don’t let it bother you. Go out there and look on Kaller as merely one of the Hemdale team. Go after him the same as you would after any of the others. Come on, now. Into your fighting clothes. I’ll give you orders in the dressing-room.” He issued the orders quietly a short time later, while the nervous squad stood before him, listening to him and also to the cheers coming from the rooting sections overhead. Then Marlan read the starting lineup. Harry Boake jumped forward. “What’s that, Coach? Don’t I play?” he almost shouted. “You don’t start,” Marlan replied. “Why not? I’ve worked like a dog all season, just for this game. I want to help smash Hemdale. And now that Kaller is going to play, there isn’t a man on the squad who’s got a greater incentive for going out and fighting hard.” “I know, Harry,” the coach interrupted. “Leave this to me. Out you go, now!” Cheers greeted the Weldon team as it

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EXCITING SPORTS trotted onto the field. The Hemdale team was already down at one end of the gridiron, running quickly through some formations. Coach Marlan eyed them and decided that they were no smoother than his Weldon boys. But “Big Pete” Kaller was with them, acting as field captain, giving them the value of his experience. Marlan expected, rightly, that Hemdale’s game would be built entirely around Kaller, who had been a gridiron star for two seasons. Hemda1e won the toss and decided to kick off. Jim Bailey got the ball and ran it back fifteen yards before being downed. The Weldon rooters howled with glee. Weldon started by trying a play off tackle, which got nowhere. Then they tried an end run, and Kaller crashed in and smeared the ball carrier for a loss of five yards. Desperately, Weldon tried a pass, and it was knocked down. They kicked, and the nervous kicker got the ball off badly and too high. Kaller got it and was downed on Weldon’s thirty-yard line. The rooters in the Weldon stands groaned. The teams huddled and lined up. The Hemdale quarter began calling signals. But every man on the Weldon team knew that Big Pete Kaller would carry the ball, and had only to watch him and guess what the play would be. Kaller had decided to try a smash through the line. He tore into the Weldon line like a locomotive, wrecking it, stumbling on for nine yards before being brought down. The Weldon stands began hooting at Kaller as the Hemdale stands rocked with cheers. Kaller heard the hoots, and they enraged him. He made the bad mistake of thumbing his nose at the Weldon rooters. The act was answered by a torrent of jeers, catcalls and epithets. In a rage, Kaller called for the ball again. He smashed at the line, tripped, and the ball shot from his

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grasp. The great Kaller had made a fumble. Through one of those lucky breaks which enliven a football game, the ball shot out and almost into the arms of a Weldon man. He seized it, dodged one Hemdale player, and started down the field. In the confusion, he got a start which put him out of danger from all the Hemda1e players except their safety man. Elated at his chance, the Weldon player ran on.

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E SAW the safety man making ready to receive him. But he was not afraid of the safety man, who was only a scrub like all the others. He was not Big Pete Kaller. The Weldon man sprinted, used the straightarm, tossed the Hemda1e man aside and raced on to cross the line. The Weldon rooters cheered themselves hoarse. Despite the presence of Kaller in the Hemdale lineup, Weldon had scored in the first few minutes of play. A nervous kicker missed the try for the extra point, but the scoreboard chalked up six for Weldon. Weldon kicked off, and a Hemdale end far down the field got the ball and began carrying it back. He got only ten yards. Then the enraged Big Pete Kaller conquered his rage and began using his field generalship, and Hemdale began a steady march down the field. They played off tackle, around the ends, passed. Kaller did not carry the ball every play, but he carried it enough to keep his team moving safely over the cross stripes toward the goal line. The first quarter ended with the ball still in Hemdale’s possession on Weldon’s twenty-yard line. In the first three minutes of the second quarter, Big Pete Kaller carried the ball around left end and scored standing up. Hemdale rooters howled and cheered

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THE GHOST OF DANNY FRAYNE when Kaller kicked and made the extra point. In possession of the ball after the kickoff, Weldon fought with determination. A lucky break gave them yardage and a first down. Already one point behind in the scoring, and with the game not half over, they began having visions of a heavy Hemdale score. It was Big Pete Kaller they were fighting. To the Weldon players, he was the entire Hemdale team. They watched every move he made. Hemdale held, and Weldon had to kick out of trouble. Jim Bailey, doing the kicking, had a stroke of luck and put the ball far down the field. A Hemdale player had some difficulty getting started with it, and the kick netted distance. Then that steady march down the field began again. But the Weldon players were fighting mad now. They stood their ground whenever anybody but Kaller carried the ball. And when he did, they went after him with rage. The half ended without further scoring. In the dressing-room, while Ed Danley repaired slight injuries and adjusted bandages, Coach Bill Marlan talked to the team. . “You’ve done mighty well, boys,” he said. “Despite the fact that Kaller is in the lineup, Hemdale has only that one extra point. I know our touchdown came as the result of a break and that Kaller pushed you around to get Hemdale’s. But breaks make football, and maybe you’ll have more of them. Get out there, now, and win. Boake!” “Yes, sir?” “Go in at right half, and do something.” “Yes, sir!” Boake almost shouted. The team trotted out upon the field and went into position. Weldon kicked to open the second half. Boake charged with the

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others, and they caught the Hemdale ball carrier far down the field. Big Pete Kaller scorned to carry the ball the first time. One of the Hemdale backs made a couple of yards off tackle. Another made three more around left end. Then, Kaller took the ball and plowed through center and made it a first down.

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S THE players untangled, Kaller and Boake came face to face. “Well, well, if it isn’t Boake, the famous chemist!” Kaller taunted. “That’s better than being a trickster,” Boake replied. “Don’t glare at me so, Boake,” Kaller said. “You scare me. There ought to be a law against it. Think you’re as good as your pal, Danny Frayne, at right half?” “You’re not fit to speak his name,” Boake said. “How’s his pretty sister? Has she been mooning around because I haven’t run up to see her?” “She doesn’t waste time thinking of you,” Boake told him. His fists were doubled, and Boake got control of himself just in time. The umpire was within a few feet of them, and the referee not far away, and Boake certainly did not want to be put out of this game for unsportsmanlike conduct, such as smashing Big Pete Kaller in the face. He wanted to stay in the game, and fight. The Hemdale team started another steady march down the field. Then the gods of football suddenly began working for the Weldon squad. A Hemdale man fumbled, and Weldon recovered the ball. But they could make no headway, and finally kicked far down the field. The third quarter ended without further scoring, but it ended with Hemdale having the ball on Weldon’s thirty-yard line. The fourth quarter started with Kaller passing. Jim Bailey intercepted the pass.

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EXCITING SPORTS He made a few yards on the play, and Weldon went into a huddle. “They’ve got a point the best of us, and time is growing short,” Boake pointed out. “We’ve got to do something right now.” “You and Bailey try that thirty-six play,” somebody suggested. They trotted back into position. They tried the trick play, which involved a run around right end, and Big Pete Kaller roared in and broke it up, but Boake had gained three yards. He staggered to his feet half dazed. Kaller had tried to smash him down, and Boake knew it. He was thinking of Danny Frayne. They had to win this game for Danny, Boake kept telling himself. He began muttering it, and some of the other players heard him. “Win for Danny!” they began whispering to one another. They tried another trick play, and it failed. In the huddle, Boake spoke in gasps. “We’ve got to do something,” he said. “If we kick, we’ll lose the ball, and may never get hold of it again. Only five minutes to go.” They stalled for time a little, then tried to pass. It was good, but for only four yards. Fourth down was coming up, with three yards still to go, and with Big Pete Kaller alert and on guard now and ready to break up any play they tried. “They’ll be expecting a kick,” Bailey said, in the huddle. “So they won’t get it. We’ll try that thirty-six play again. It’s the last thing they’ll be expecting—and it’s our last chance.” Boake was assailed by a spasm of sudden weakness as he stumbled back to his position. A film seemed to be before his eyes. Thoughts of Danny Frayne were flooding his mind. This was the last chance! Three yards to go! And, after that,

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still a march down the field after the three yards were gained. With less than five minutes to go. It looked hopeless. The signals were called. Boake got the ball safely, and Jim Bailey charged madly to make a hole for him. Boake scarcely knew what he was doing. He was thinking only of getting as far down the field as possible. Three yards!

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AGUELY he realized that he was past the first danger. The Weldon stands were in a tumult, and the howls of the rooters beat against Boake’s eardrums and half deafened him. Traveling on his nerve rather than his strength, he charged forward. “Have to do it—for Danny!” he was muttering as he ran. He dodged a Hemdale man who charged at him, and twisted past another. He was only dimly conscious of the white stripes swimming beneath his flying feet. From the corner of his eye, he saw Big Pete Kaller rushing at him. Boake glanced ahead, as if through a mist. He could see the Hemdale goal line, and knew it was only a short distance away. But that short distance seemed like miles to him the way he felt. His breathing was in gasps. Pains were shooting around his left side. He was dimly conscious of Big Pete Kaller howling at him as he charged. Then he saw Kaller make a desperate lunge to catch him, flying through the air at him in a furious, frantic tackle. Boake twisted slightly, and slipped. The slip saved him from being brought down. Big Pete sprawled, and Boake hurdled his body and staggered on. Only one man remained between him and the goal line. “For—Danny!” he muttered again. But he felt that he couldn’t make it, not quite. He feared the scrub Hemdale player

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THE GHOST OF DANNY FRAYNE before him more than he had feared Big Pete. He wouldn’t have strength enough left to straightarm him, he felt. He had reached the limit of physical endurance. He glanced up again. And there was Danny Frayne! The ghost of Danny Frayne was there behind the goal line, gesturing wildly for him to come on. New strength filled Boake’s body at the instant he needed it. Danny’s gesture was like a command. He dodged the wild tackle the last man made, and stumbled on. “I’m coming, Danny!” he gasped.

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ANNY FRAYNE was still there, still motioning for him to come. Boake hurled himself forward. He saw the goal line again, and realized that he was sprawling over it safely, was falling forward. Then, he passed out. He returned to a state of semiconsciousness dimly aware of a roaring in his ears. Then he realized that the roar came from the throats of Weldon rooters, and remembered. Despite Big Pete Kaller, he had scored and won the game for Weldon. He had seen the ghost of Danny Frayne, and it had given him strength when he had needed it most. Then he realized that Danley, the old trainer, was speaking to him, almost into his ear. “Don’t move, my lad,” said Danley. “We’re puttin’ you on a stretcher to carry you to the dressin’-room. You’re all right, boy, only exhausted. Playin’ on your nerve instead of on strength may win games, but it’s not good for a man. Just be still, now. Don’t even open your eyes. We’ve already let the crowd know over the loud-speakin’ system that you’ll be all right.” “We—won?” Boake asked, weakly. He spoke without opening his eyes. “We certainly did. Jim Bailey kicked the goal after you passed out. Thirteen to

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seven, it is, in spite of that skunk who tried to play tricks on Weldon. His teammates got him into the dressin’ room, and they’ll prob’ly sneak him out of town. He lost plenty of his rich Dad’s money through his crookedness, and a lot of Weldon fans are goin’ to have somethin’ extra to put into war bonds.” Boake realized that he was being lifted and carried. The pains were leaving his side as his breathing became easier. Walking beside the stretcher, Danley was wiping Boake’s face with a water-soaked sponge, and it felt good. When the roar of the crowd dwindled, Boake knew he was being carried through the runway to the dressing-rooms beneath the stadium. “I feel better,” he muttered. “You’ll be all right,” Danley told him. “All that exertion by a lad who didn’t have years of trainin’. The shock was bad.” “I’d never have made it. But I saw— the ghost of Danny Frayne.” “How’s that?” Danley asked. “Danny’s ghost. He was right there— behind the goal line—motioning for me to come on.” “Well, I’ll be cussed,” Danley said. Then they were in the dressing-room. Danley barred the door and excluded everybody except a couple of the men. They undressed the exhausted Boake and bathed him, got him into his underwear and a warm robe and propped him up on a bench. “I’m all right now, except mighty tired,” Boake said, smiling at the trainer. “That’s fine,” Danley replied, with a grin. “One of you lads let the coach in.” Bill Marlan came in, his face beaming. “What do you think, Bill?” Danley said, quickly. “Boake says that he saw the ghost of Danny Frayne standin’ behind the goal line beckonin’ for him to come on, and that’s how he was able to make it.”

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EXCITING SPORTS “Sure,” said Boake. “I saw it as plain as anything.” Bill Marlan sat down beside him and put an arm around Boake’s shoulders. “I hope you can stand a shock, Harry,” the coach said. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this now, but I just can’t keep it from you. You didn’t see Danny Frayne’s ghost.” “I know what I saw,” Boake said, stubbornly. “He was standing in plain sight.”

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ILL MARLAN shook his head. “Listen to me, Harry. You saw Danny Frayne himself. Try to understand. Danny was badly hurt when he was shot down, and crashed in the jungle. He caught jungle fever, some new brand of it, and didn’t even know who he was. Natives got him to the nearest white men, who luckily happened to be a detachment of our own troops.” “But I saw him,” Boake persisted. “Listen, Harry! The doctors over there saved his life, but couldn’t lick the disease. They had him transferred back to the States by plane, and to a hospital here,

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where the disease could be studied and doctors learn how to fight it in the future. Danny Frayne is all right now. “Somehow, Laura wasn’t notified and the report of ‘missing in action’ changed. That happens now and then in a big war like this. When Danny got all right and remembered everything, he learned of the annual game. And they flew him here in an Army plane on a routine mission, and he got here just as the game was ending, on a three months’ sick leave, and went out behind the goal line. And you saw him there. It’s a happy day for all of us. Danny’s alive. He’s outside with his sister now. Can you stand it to have them come in?” Understanding finally flashed in Boake’s face. He got to his feet, and had strength enough to walk away from the bench a short distance. “Stand to have them come in?” Boake said. “I couldn’t stand it if they didn’t.” His eyes glistening and a welcoming smile on his lips, he stood waiting while the coach hurried to open the door.

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