off a forty-yard punt from behind
his own goal line.

With the punch gone from Harvard's attack, the Crimson made but a scant
yard in two downs; then the little Broadhurst threw a long forward
pass. The play was well screened; but an alert son of Yale, keenly on
the job, managed to intercept the ball. He was thrown in his tracks.

It was growing dark, with the lowering clouds threatening a genuine
deluge. A chilling gust of wind whistled through the stadium. Some of
the less hardened "rooters" got up and began forcing their way toward
the exits. A gloomy silence hung over the field.

Once more in swing, the Yale steam roller got under way. It took up
its old battering tactics--slip-slosh-bang, slip-slosh-bang. There was
nothing sensational in its movement, just methodical. And back--ever
back--though courageously resisting, went the Crimson line. A flock of
substitutes came running out now. The ball was on Harvard's
twenty-three yard line, four minutes more to play. The substitutes
brought a new, if hopeless touch of spirit to the Harvard eleven. They
were ambitious, almost pathetically so in the circumstances, to make a
good showing in their fleeting chance for glory.

"Touchdown, touchdown, touchdown!" the Yale supporters began to chant
in monotonous fashion. It was not a question now of who would win, but
could Yale go over the goal line in the time that was left? Harvard
had put up a surprising battle against an eleven which had been favored
to defeat her by at least twenty points. And Yale was a bit miffed at
this, sternly desirous of adding to the score by hammering through for
a touch down. A victory won solely through the talented toe of the
great Nixon was hardly sufficient tribute to the supposed offensive
power of the team itself.

There were two minutes left to play when Yale brought up on Harvard's
three-yard line for a first down. Behind the battered and tottering
Crimson wall a figure raved and ranted and roared, entreating his
teammates to stave off the Bulldog's advance. He stamped from end to
end in the churned up sod, prodding each player in a vicious manner.
But there was no visible stiffening of the Harvard defense at the
savage barking of its quarterback. The team was crushed after having
done its best to no avail.

"Look at that bird begging his line to hold and he the one who made
that costly fumble!" cried a Yale supporter, who somehow had obtained a
seat in the Harvar