clutching it firmly against his
chest, took a few slipping side-steps to dodge an eager tackler. The
Eli succeeded in this, only to crash directly into the arms of a second
Harvard tackler, who bore him to the sodden earth on the Blue's
fifteen-yard stripe. Davies sank back into his seat with a sigh of
relief. The first prickling moment of the game was over.

There were, though, further prickling moments to come. On the first
play Yale launched a line-smashing offensive, aiming her backfield men
at different points on the Harvard forward wall. It was
slip-slosh-bang, slip-slosh-bang! There were slow, heavy shiftings,
then a mud-smeared man with the ball diving through a hole for one,
two, three, or five yards--sometimes ten. Yielding, always stubbornly,
but always yielding, the slender Harvard line bent back and back under
the savage, relentless onslaught of unmuzzled Yale Bulldogs thirsting
for the blood of victory. Davies wore his voice to shreds trying to
stop Yale's advance.

It was no use. This was one of those days when all the cheering that
could be martialed, and all the resistance that could be offered
against the foe, availed but little. Thwarted from a touchdown by the
Crimson's grim stand on their very goal line, Nixon, Yale's star
kicker, dropped back and booted the dripping-wet ball between the
uprights for a spectacular field goal which shot the Elis into a
three-point lead.

In the second quarter, facing the same bitter opposition and impeded by
the slow, heavy conditions underfoot, Yale satisfied herself with
battering the Crimson eleven back until, clawing at one another on the
Harvard twenty-yard mark, Nixon mechanically duplicated his first field
goal to bring his team's score for the half up to six points. Yale
supporters shrieked their joy. The Harvard stands roared loyal
encouragement, then lapsed into mournful silence.

During the intermission, Davies confessed to himself that he had never
seen a "fightinger" team except, perhaps, the eleven that had fought
that memorable battle back in 1905. Here were Crimson gridiron
gladiators who made the heart burst with pride; who, though being
slowly ground into defeat, were displaying Spartanlike valor; who, by
the inspired nature of their resistance, were putting gnawing lumps in
the throats of their ardent followers. Ah, this was a contest worth
watching, a combat which would go down in history, a story of how a
slight Harvard eleven,