two Elevens spread, while cheer after cheer met in
mid-field, clashed, and rolled upward to the blue. Then came a bare five
minutes of punting, dropping, passing, snapping, ere the officials
appeared from somewhere and gathered the opposing captains to them. A
coin flashed in the sunlight, spun aloft, descended, and was caught in
the referee's palm. "Heads!" cried Ferguson, the Yates captain. "Heads
it is!" announced the referee.

The substitutes retreated unwillingly to the side lines, the Harwell men
spread themselves over the north end of the gridiron, Elton, the Yates
full-back, ground his heel into the turf and pointed the ball, the
cheering ceased, the whistle piped merrily, the bright new ball soared
aloft on its arching flight, and the game of the year was on.

CHAPTER XXIII.

HARWELL _VS_. YATES--THE FIRST HALF.

That game will live in history.

It was a battle royal between giant foes. On one hand was the confidence
begat of fifteen years of almost continuous victory over the crimson; on
the other the desperation that such defeat brings. Yates had a proud
record to sustain, Harwell a decade of worsting to atone for. And
twenty-five thousand persons watched and hoped and feared as the
battle raged.

Down settled the soaring ball into the arms of Kingdon, who tucked it
under his arm and started with it toward the distant goal. But eight
yards was all he found ere a Yates forward crashed down upon him. Then
came a quick line-up on Harwell's forty yards, and first Prince, then
Kingdon, then Blair was put through the line, each for a small gain, and
the Harwell benches shouted their triumph. Again the pigskin was given
to Prince for a try through the hole between tackle and guard, but this
time he was hurled back for a loss. The next try was Kingdon's, and he
made a yard around the Yates left end. It was the third down and five
yards were lacking. Back went the ball for a kick, and a moment later
it was Yates's on her thirty-five yards, and again the teams were lining
up. It was now the turn of the east stand to cheer, and mightily the
shout rolled across the field.

Through came the Yates full, the ball safely stowed in the crook of his
elbow, the whole force of the backs shoving him on. Three yards was his.
Another line-up. Again the Yates full-back was given the ball, and again
he gained. And it was the first down on Yates's forty-five-yard line.
Then began a rout in which Harwell retreated and