meet the gray-clad quintette that advanced from the
opposite side of the room.

United cheering from the gallery constituents of both teams rent the
air. The contestants acknowledged the applause and ran to their
stations. A significant silence fell as the referee poised the ball for
the opening toss. Mignon La Salle's black eyes were fastened upon it
with almost savage intensity. She leaped like a cat for it as it left
the referee's hands. Again the screech of the whistle sounded. The game
had begun.

It was Marjorie who won the toss-up, however. She had been just a shade
quicker than Mignon. Now she sent the ball flying toward Susan Atwell
with a sure aim that made the onlookers gasp with admiration. Before the
gray-clad girls could comprehend just how it had all happened, their
opponents had scored. But this was only the beginning of things. Buoyant
over their initial gain, the black and scarlet girls played as though
inspired and soon the score stood 8 to 0 in their favor.

Mignon La Salle was furious at the unexpected turn matters had taken.
Her players, of whom she had expected wonders, were behaving like
dummies. They had evidently forgotten her fierce exhortations to fight
their way to victory regardless of expense. Well, she would soon show
them their work. It did not take her long to put her resolve into
execution. Joining a wild rush for the ball, which Harriet Delaney was
valiantly trying to throw to basket, Mignon made good her word. Just
what happened to her Harriet could not say. She knew only that a sly,
tripping foot, unseen in the turmoil, sent her crashing to the floor,
while the ball passed into the enemy's keeping, and they scored.

Inspired by the sweetness of success, Mignon's "dummies" awoke and
carried out the instructions, so often impressed upon them in secret by
their unscrupulous leader, in a series of plays that for sly roughness
had never been equalled by any other team that had elected to take the
floor in that gymnasium. Yet so cleverly did they execute them that
beyond an occasional foul they managed to elude the supposedly-watchful
eyes of the referee, an upper class friend of the French girl's, and
rapidly piled up their score.

When the whistle called the end of the first half it found the score
10-8 in favor of the grays. It also found a quintet of enraged
black-clad girls, nursing sundry bruises and vows of vengeance.

"It's a burning shame!" cried Susan Atwell, the moment th