ell,
her freshmen, and the grandeur of their victory over the youngsters of
Yates. And, as the last cheer floated up from the procession as it
disappeared around a far corner, lunch was served, and player and coach,
trainer and rubber, substitute and mascot, drew up to the last meal
before--what? Victory or defeat?

It was not a merry repast, that lunch before the fray. Some men could
not bring themselves to eat at all until the coaches commanded with dire
threats. Others, as though nothing out of the ordinary was about to take
place, ate heartily, hungrily, of everything set before them. At the far
end of the room Joel March played with his steak and tried to delude
himself into thinking he was eating. He felt rather upset, and weak in
the joints, and as for the lad's stomach it had revolted at sight of the
very first egg. But luckily the last meal before a game has little
effect one way or the other upon the partaker, since he is already keyed
up, mentally and physically, to a certain pitch, and nothing short of
cold poison can alter it.

In the streets below, for blocks in all directions, the crowds surged up
and down, and shouts for Harwell and yells for Yates arose like
challenges in the afternoon air. Friends met who had not done so for
years, enemies accorded enemies bows of recognition ere they remembered
their enmity. The deep blue and the deeper crimson passed and
counterpassed, brushed and fluttered side by side, and lighted up the
little college city till it looked like a garden of roses and violets.

And everywhere, over all, was the tensity that ever reigns before a
battle.

The voices of the ticket speculator and of the merchant of "Offish'l
Score Cards" were heard upon every side. The street cars poked their
blunt noses through the crowd which closed in again behind them like
water about the stern of a ship. Violets blossomed or crimson
chrysanthemums bloomed upon every coat and wrap, or hung pendant from
the handle of cane and umbrella. The flags of Harwell and Yates, the
white H and white Y, were everywhere. Shop windows were partisan to the
blue, but held dashes of crimson as a sop to the demands of hospitality
and welcome.

At one o'clock the exodus from town began. Along the road that leads to
the football field hurried the sellers of rush cushions and badges, of
score cards and pencils, of blue and crimson flags and cheap canes, of
peanuts and sandwiches, of soda water and sarsaparilla, bent