very good, and the singing was worse; but there was
a great deal of noise, and that was about all that mattered to either
side.

A few minutes before two, the Raleigh team ran upon the field. The
Raleigh cheering section promptly went mad. When the Sanford team
appeared a minute later, the Sanford cheering section tried its best to
go madder, the boys whistling and yelling like possessed demons. Wayne
Gifford brought them to attention by holding his hands above his head.
He called for the usual regular cheer for the team and then for a short
cheer for each member of it, starting with the captain, Sherman
Walford, and ending with the great half-back, Harry Slade.

Suddenly there was silence. The toss-up had been completed; the teams
were in position on the field. Slade had finished building a slender
pyramid of mud, on which he had balanced the ball. The referee held up
his hand. "Are you ready, Sanford?" Walford signaled his readiness. "Are
you ready, Raleigh?"

The shrill blast of the referee's whistle--and the game was on. The
first half was a see-saw up and down the field. Near the end of the half
Raleigh was within twenty yards of the Sanford line. Shouts of "Score!
Score! Score!" went up from the Raleigh rooters, rhythmic, insistent.
"Hold 'em! Hold 'em! Fight! Fight! Fight!" the Sanford cheering section
pleaded, almost sobbing the words. A forward pass skilfully completed
netted Raleigh sixteen yards. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

The timekeeper tooted his little horn; the half was over. For a moment
the Sanford boys leaned back exhausted; then they leaped to their feet
and yelled madly, while the Raleigh boys leaned back or against each
other and swore fervently. Within two minutes the tension had departed.
The rival cheering sections alternated in singing songs, applauded each
other vigorously, whistled at a frightened dog that tried to cross the
field and nearly lost its mind entirely when called by a thousand
masters, waited breathlessly when the cheer-leaders announced the
results from other football games that had been telegraphed to the
field, applauded if Harvard was losing, groaned if it wasn't, sang some
more, relaxed and felt consummately happy.

Sanford immediately took the offensive in the second half. Slade was
consistently carrying the ball. Twice he brought it within Raleigh's
twenty-five-yard line. The first time Raleigh held firm, but the second
time Slade stepped back for a drop-kick. The specta