pit figure attired in a long black
frock coat and high silk hat, the latter banded with crimson ribbon,
came into sight down the field. It was the old fruit seller of Harwell,
whose years are beyond reckoning, and who is remembered by the oldest
graduates. On he came, his old, wrinkled face grimacing in toothless
smiles, his ribboned cane waving in his trembling hand, and his
well-nigh bald head bowing a welcome to the watchers. For it was not he
who was the guest, for from time almost immemorial the old fruit seller
has presided at the contests of Harwell, rejoicing in her victories,
lamenting over her defeats. Down the line he limped, while gray-haired
graduates and downy-lipped undergrads cheered him loyally, calling his
name over and over, and so back to a seat in the middle of the stand,
from where all through the battle his crimson-bedecked cane waved
unceasingly.

He was not the only one welcomed by the throng. A great jurist,
chrysanthemumed from collar to waist, bowed jovial acknowledgment of the
applause his appearance summoned. The governor of a State came too to
see once more the crimson of his alma mater clashing with the blue of
her old enemy. Professors, who had put aside their books, beamed
benevolently through their glasses as they walked somewhat embarrassedly
past the grinning faces of their pupils. Old football players, former
captains, bygone masters of rowing, commanders of olden baseball teams,
all these and many more were there and were welcomed heartily,
tumultuously, by the wearers of the red. And through it all the cheers
went on, the college songs were sung, and the hearts of youth and age
were happy and glad together.

Then the cry of "Here they come!" traveled along the field, and the
blue-clad warriors leaped into the arena at the far end, and the east
stand went delirious, and flags waved, and a tempest shook the bank
of violets.

"Rah-rah-rah, Rah-rah-rah, Rah-rah-rah, Yates!"

And almost simultaneously the west stand arose and its voice arose to
the sky in wild, frenzied shouts of:

"Har-well, Har-well, Har-well, Rah-rah-rah, Rah-rah-rah, Rah-rah-rah,
Har-well! Har-well! Har-well!"

For over the fence came the head coach, and big Chesney, and Captain
Dutton, Story, the little quarter-back, and all the others, a long line
of crimson-stockinged warriors, with Joel March, Briscom, Bedford, and
the other substitutes flocking along in the tag end of the procession.
Over the field the