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moved the ball at all. At the end of the first half, the score was
     Rams 0, Jets 0.
    During the third quarter the Rams moved the ball to the Jets’ twenty-eight-yard line. The situation was tense.
    “What’re you waiting for, Mike?” Butch said in the defensive huddle.
    “Hold it!” said Mike.
    The message was coming from Harry into his thoughts. “Thirty-two. Run through right tackle.”
    Mike smiled. “OK, guys! A run through right tackle! Cover that hole!”
    Sure enough, the Rams’ halfback triedto bust through his right-tackle side, but he didn’t gain an inch. He
lost
a yard.

    “Nice going, Mike!” cried Butch. “Good guess!”
    The message from Harry came again. “Fourteen! Long pass down the right corner.”
    Mike looked at Butch. “Watch for a long pass down in your corner, Butch,” he said.
    Butch not only looked for it, but intercepted it, and carried it to the Rams’ eighteen-yard line! In two plays they scored
     a touchdown; then they made the point after.
    “Hey, you’ve guessed them right again, Mike!” exclaimed Bobby, a halfback. “That’s great, man!”
    Mike didn’t tell him that it was really Harry who deserved all the credit.

    The Jets won the game, 28 to 7.
    The next week they played the Aces and beat them 14 to 0. Harry was making all the difference. But as he was walking home
     from the Aces game, Mike wondered briefly if using Harry were really a fair thing to do. It helped the Jets win, and that’s
     what counted, wasn’t it?

    “We’re really not cheating, are we, Harry?” Mike asked. “After all, anything to win, right, pal?”
    Harry only gave a short bark and walked away. “Don’t ask me. I’m just a dog. But anytime you don’t want to hear the plays,
     it’s all right with me.” Mike decided it was too complicated to think about.

    After their fourth win, Mike’s father invited the Jets to Bailor’s Chunky Hamburgers and bought them each a burger. While
     they ate, a tall kid with curly red hair came up to Mike and stuck a finger against his chest.

    “You think you’ve got a great team, don’t you?” he said, tough-like.
    “Sure we do,” agreed Mike. The kid was Curly Lucas, captain of the Tigers.
    “We’re playing you guys next week,” said Curly. “How about the losers buying the winners hamburgers?”

    “Sounds great,” exclaimed Mike. “Wait a minute. I’ll talk to my father.”
    His father was sitting on the end stool. Mike told him Curly’s offer, and said, “I think we can beat them, Dad.”
    “OK,” said his father.

    Mike wasn’t worried. With Harry giving him the plays, the Jets would give the Tigers a drubbing they wouldn’t forget.
    But on Saturday morning, something happened that Mike had not counted on. Harry would not budge out of his house.
    He was sick!

    “It must have been that old bone I found in the yard,” Harry groaned. “I just can’t make it today.”
    “Oh, no!” cried Mike. And for a minute he thought he was going to get sick, too.

    But the game had to go on — with or without Harry.
    The Tigers were a fired-up ball team. They scored a touchdown within the first five minutes of the game.

    The Jets’ defense was full of holes, and the Tigers seemed to know exactly where every one of them was.
    Mike saw Curly’s triumphant smile, and could picture him already munching on the hamburg he was going to win.
    Before the quarter ended, the Tigers had chalked up seven more points, 14–0.
    Mike and his defensemen stood on the field, their spirits broken.
    “You were crazy to take Curly up on that bet,” Butch said, glaring at Mike. “Those Tigers are just too big for us, and your
     magic — or whatever it is — isn’t working.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Mike. “I’m really sorry about this.”
    He couldn’t tell Butch that he had depended on his dog, Harry, to help them out. Why did that dumb dog have to get sick
now
of all times?
    The Tigers went into the lead in the second quarter, 21–0.

    At