the Field!' song!"

"Over this way, Elmwood. We'll run through the signals again!"

"Over here, Holwell, for some snappy work!"

These were only a few of the many things heard on the Elmwood gridiron
the Saturday of one of the big games. The grandstands were piling up
with their crowds, many dashes of color being added by the hats and
wraps of the girls, while the sweaters and cap-bands of their
brothers--or perhaps other girls' brothers---increased the riot of
color.

"Oh, what a fine looking lot of fellows the Elmwood Hall boys are,"
confided one girl to her chum.

"Do you think so? I think they look small compared to the Holwell
players."

"Why Mabel, how can you say such a thing? There's Billy over there.
Isn't he stunning? Did you see him kick?"

"Oh, there goes Fred with the ball!" and the other girl with her eyes
on the Holwell contingent, never looked at her friend who had looks
only for "Billy" who was lucky enough to play on Tom's team.

There was a consultation of the officials and a toss for choice.
Holwell got the kick-off, and Captain Denton was rather glad of it, for
he had instructed his lads, in case they got the ball, to make the most
of the early periods of the game, and rush the pigskin for all they
were worth.

"If we can get a touchdown in the first period it will almost mean
winning the game," he said to the coach.

"That's right. Well, play as fast as you can, for I think we're in for
a storm, and there are too many chances on a wet field to make anything
certain. Strike while the iron is hot. Slam-bang through for a
touchdown, if you can, before the rain comes."

It was a raw, chilly day, with every promise of rain or snow, and
though the crowds in the stands kept themselves warm by stamping their
feet and singing, there was much discomfort.

Tom had been given his old position back of the line, and as he trotted
out for practice he felt a sense of elation in the coming struggle.

"I'm not going to think about that miserable old business," he told
himself, but his resolution received a rude shock when, as he passed
where Sam was talking to one of the Holwell players, the bully was
heard to say:

"Yes, lots of us think he dropped the poison in the mangers to get even
with Appleby. But of course there's nothing proven."

"I see. A sort of Scotch verdict."

"Something like that. I should think he'd get out of the eleven at
least, if not out of the school, but he stic