ore was to be posted
as it came along the wire.

Dick Harrington, in sweater and cap, arrived at one-forty-five. The
first score had just been posted:

Chancellor's Hill 5
The Towers 0

The Headmaster's secretary, a studious but otherwise attractive young
man, who posted the notice, volunteered the information that the
Chancellor's Hill left end had turned the trick with a fifty-five yard
run when The Towers eleven had tied itself into a knot through a jumbled
signal.

"That's an awful beginning!" said Runt Woods, who was standing next to
Dick Harrington. He was a little, flat-faced, brownie sort of boy, whom
everybody loved. "Must have been in the first five minutes of play."

"They won't get any more," Dick answered confidently. "It's too bad they
scored, but they won't get any more."

His optimism was unwarranted. There was a long wait without news. Then
Mr. Tuttle, the secretary, reappeared from the Main Building, wearing a
rueful smile. He picked up the eraser under the bulletin board, but he
did not disturb the zero which stood to the credit (or debit) of The
Towers. He rubbed out the 5 that followed Chancellor's Hill and set down
11.

"Something's happened!" cried Dick.

"Two touchdowns and a goal have happened," said Runt Woods gloomily.

"I don't mean that. I mean that something's happened to the team! Lost
their heads, or something."

He wondered whether "The Colonel" had been taken ill. "The Colonel" was
so completely the heart and soul of the team. If for some reason he were
out of it----

They must be playing the second period by now. There was another long
wait. Then at last Mr. Tuttle, looking grave, reappeared.

At the edge of the Archway, he stopped. "Don't mob me, now," he said,
trying to grin.

"What's the score? Score!" cried a hundred voices.

"End of the second period," he said, striding toward the board. "Score
11 to 0."

Groans, loud and prolonged.

* * * * *

The wind whistled through the Archway. The boys stuck their hands in
their pockets and danced, shivering, but not one deserted the bulletin
board. They stared at the dismal figures and a dozen versions of How It
Must Have Happened were launched by imaginative spectators, attacked
ruthlessly and torpedoed as improbable. The trouble with the whole
matter of explaining Chancellor's Hill's two touchdowns was that the
very fact of the touchdowns would, an hou