th the Yale
Bulldogs, and to sit in the stands where he would be pointed out as one
of Harvard's greatest old-time football heroes.

Every year since his graduation, C. R. D. had gone back on the occasion
of the Yale game--gone either to Cambridge or New Haven--and he
intended to keep on doing it as many years as he was permitted to draw
breath.

As Davies took the train at the Grand Central Station, New York, he
glanced apprehensively at the gray sky overhead and hoped that the
weather man who had prophesied rain was wrong. Harvard would need a
dry field this year to stand an even chance at winning. Her back field
was light, fast, and shifty. It depended on a quick get-away and a
sure under-footing. Yale's eleven was solid, heavy from end to end,
with a stubborn defense that had allowed but two touchdowns so far that
season, and a pile-driving back field that moved slowly but surely
behind a battering forward wall. If it rained, Davies reflected,
Harvard's last vestige of hope was due to be trampled in the mud.

And yet twenty years before, almost to the day, with a driving rain
falling and Yale dangerously near Harvard's goal in the last quarter,
the game locked in a grim nothing-nothing tie, a bespattered,
sandy-haired youth with a crimson bow encircling his right wrist, had
scooped up a fumble at his very goal line and dodged and slipped
through the whole Eli team for a frenzied touchdown.

The final score of that heart-blasting contest had been five to
nothing, and the sensational length-of-the-field run had clinched for
the Harvard quarterback his right to All-American honors. The feat was
talked about yet, wherever Harvard men gathered who had witnessed the
spectacle of victory jerked from the grinning jaws of defeat. At the
Harvard Club on Forty-fourth Street, New York, Carrington frequently
ran into brother alumni who said, "I remember you when----" and then he
was forced to listen to their versions of his crowning football
achievement.

Davies found solace in going over old times. The Harvard Club was his
haven of refuge. He was one of the best known men there. To enter the
dining room was to nod to men at practically every table. There was a
joy in feeling that he was among friends; in having his praises sung to
younger grads by those who had chummed with him in college; to have his
football prowess perpetuated by retelling.

It was nothing to C. R. D. that he was recognized also as one of t