shaken his head.

Newspapers were kindly enough now. They told how the great John Brown
had been stricken down at the height of his brilliant career. They
intimated that the strain of developing a winning team at Elliott had
taken its toll, together with the loss of the Larwood game and its
attendant _unjust_ criticism. Colleges throughout the country went
into mourning. Football practices were curtailed as a mark of respect
and memorial services were held. At Naylor there was talk of a
monument to place in their Hall of Fame. The sporting populace at
large sincerely grieved over the passing of this nationally revered
figure who had contributed much to football in particular and all
athletics in general.

But it was natural that Elliott should take Coach Brown's passing
hardest of all. A difference of opinion sprung up at once as to
whether the last game of the season should be played. Some argued that
the game should be cancelled as a tribute to John Brown's memory, while
others--who claimed to know J. B. the best--wondered if this were the
sort of tribute that the famous coach would have appreciated. Had he
not left his body with the message to "carry on" on his lips? Had not
his dying words been a fervent exhortation to the team to buckle down
to the strenuous task of preparing to meet and, if humanly possible, to
defeat Delmar? In the light of Delmar's imposing season's record, the
coach's last talk may have seemed preposterous for the colossal faith
he was seemingly placing in his system and his ill-experienced but
fighting team. Yet John Brown had died with his face to the
front--ready to meet his biggest test head-on, and--under these
circumstances it would be a good thing for Elliott and the entire
football world if the game were gone through with on schedule.

There were two individuals at Elliott who mourned as one--a big-framed,
well proportioned fellow and a slender-lined, sweet-faced girl. Their
sorrow over J. B.'s loss had been made all the more inconsolable
because of certain previous events now stamped indelibly upon their
minds and magnified to the point of causing them much remorse. Perhaps
they should not have taken the happening quite so much to heart but Tim
Mooney and Ruth Chesterton somehow felt as though they had been
condemned in the eyes of the coach and his demise now offered them no
opportunity to redeem themselves.

When the Elliott board of control, after a special called