The day of the Hawthorne game dawned cold and gray, with a chill breeze out of the east that held a tang of the ocean thirty miles away. Hawthorne came along, nearly two hundred strong, early in the forenoon and took possession of the village, taxing the capacities of the railroad restaurant and the various lunch rooms to the limit. At Sunnywood Gil and Poke, veterans though they were, showed unmistakable nervousness all the morning, and it took the required efforts of Jim and Jeffrey to amuse them. By eleven o’clock the sun had peeped for an instant through the gloom, promising better things for the afternoon. The football team dined at twelve that day, so at Sunnywood the dinner hour was set forward correspondingly. At one Gil and Poke, happy and cheerful now that the time of waiting was past, set off to the field.

“If you don’t win, Poke Endicott,” called Hope from the porch as the boys started down the road, “I’ll never speak to you again!”

“After that threat,” laughed Poke, “I shall simply eat ’em alive, Hope!”

The rest of the household, Jim, Jeffrey, Hope, Mrs. Hazard and Mr. Hanks started an hour later. Mr. Hanks, having had football thrust suddenly into his philosophy, displayed an amazing interest and curiosity. “You see,” he confided to Mrs. Hazard, “I have never witnessed a game of football. This may seem strange to you, for my college was, I believe, very successful at the game. The fact is, however, that I never had time to attend the contests. I am really quite curious to see how the game is played. I think it must be—er—quite interesting.”

When the Sunnywood party arrived Hawthorne, looking in its black and orange like an army of young Princetonians, was on the gridiron warming up for the fray. Along the ropes on the other side of the field Hawthorne’s supporters were already shouting to the sky. The sun, still coy, broke through every few minutes and cast a pallid wash of gold over the sere turf. It was cold enough for rugs and heavy coats, and Hope was secretly pleased that she had managed to snuggle in between her mother and Mr. Hanks. Beyond Mrs. Hazard sat Jim with Jeffrey beside him. By a quarter to two the Crofton side of the field was three and four deep along the ropes and at ten minutes to the hour two things happened simultaneously; the Crofton eleven, brave and colorful in new uniforms of crimson and gray, trotted onto the field, and the sun burst through the murk in a sudden blaze of glory.

“That,” cried Hope ecstatically, “means that we shall win!”

Crofton took the field for practice, Gary, back in his togs once more, racing down the gridiron like a colt. A moment later Gil ran up and called to Jim across the rope.

“Come on and be our linesman, Jim. You see,” he continued as Jim ducked under the barrier and strode across the field with him, “you’ll be nearer things and can watch the game a heap better. There’s your partner in crime over there with the chain. Introduce yourself like a gentleman, shake hands and welcome him to the funeral. They’ve got a pretty husky set of men, haven’t they? That’s Gould, the little chap talking to Johnny. He’s the man we’ve got to watch to-day. Gee, I wish you were playing, Jim!”

“So do I. Is Gould their quarter? He doesn’t look such a wonder, does he?”

“Wait till you get a good look at his face. There’s the whistle. Wish us luck, Jim!”

Jeffrey moved into the seat next to Mrs. Hazard, depositing an extra coat beside him so that Jim might have his place if he returned. Hawthorne spread herself over the west end of the field to receive the kick-off, Duncan Sargent patted the tee into shape, poised the ball and looked around him. “All ready, Hawthorne? All ready, Crofton?” questioned the referee. Both teams assented, the whistle blew, Sargent sent the ball spinning down the field and the game was on.

Crofton displayed her offensive ability at the start. Johnny had instructed the team to get the jump on Hawthorne in the first minute of play and carry her off her feet if possible. Arnold obeyed directions to the letter. From the first line-up, after the full-back had caught and carried the ball to his thirty-five yards, Poke Endicott tore off eighteen yards outside of tackle and began a rushing advance that took the ball to Hawthorne’s fifteen-yard mark. Hawthorne stiffened as the play neared the goal line and Arnold tried a forward pass to Tearney, right end. This failed and the ball went to the Orange-and-Black. But on the very next play Hawthorne’s left half fumbled and Benson, Crofton’s full-back, dived into the scramble and recovered the pigskin. Crofton’s machine started up again and after three rushes Poke shot through and over the goal line for a well-earned touchdown. Sargent kicked goal.

The crimson-and-gray flags waved madly and three hundred voices cheered and yelled. In just five minutes Crofton had swept her opponent off her feet and scored six points! That was surely cause for rejoicing. Even Mrs. Hazard clapped her hands, and Mr. Hanks, just beginning to understand the scheme of things, beamed delightedly through his spectacles. As for Hope, why Hope was already breathless from screaming and trembling with excitement. Jeffrey, seeing more of the game than the others, better appreciated the coup de main that had put Crofton in the ascendancy at the very beginning of the battle. But he wondered whether the Crimson-and-Gray would show an equally good defense. That was the only scoring in the first period of fifteen minutes. Crofton suffered a penalty for holding shortly after the touchdown had been made, and later was set back for off-side. However, the loss of twenty yards had no effect on the final result, for neither side came near scoring, and the quarter ended with the ball in Crofton’s possession on her rival’s twenty-seven yards.

Hawthorne’s chief mainstay was her quarter-back, Gould, a remarkable all-around player. A brainy general, a certain catcher of punts, a brilliant runner either in a broken field or an open and a clever manipulator of the forward pass, Crofton held him in great respect. Hawthorne’s team was, in a manner, built around Gould, and in that lay whatever weakness it possessed. Johnny had coached his players for a fortnight to stop Gould, knowing that aside from his performances Hawthorne had very little to offer in the matter of ground-gaining feats. And throughout the first period Gould failed to get away with anything. Crofton watched him as a cat watches a mouse and every move of his was smothered. One twenty-yard sprint around Tearney’s end was the best he could do, while whenever he caught a punt in the backfield Tearney and Gil were down on him to stand him on his plucky little head the instant the ball was in his arms.

The second period began with Crofton in high feather. Benson and Smith, left half, each made short gains, and then Arnold tried a forward pass from Hawthorne’s twenty-five yard mark. He threw too far, however, and the Orange-and-Black received the ball on its thirteen-yard line. Gould kicked, and, thanks to two holding penalties, Crofton was forced back into its own territory in the next few minutes. Then Arnold’s punt went to Gould on his forty yards. With the first real flash of form he had shown, the little quarter-back tore off fifteen yards. From the center of the field and close to the side-line he made his first successful forward pass, a long, low throw along the edge of the field to his right end who caught the ball over his shoulder and ran to Crofton’s thirty-four-yard line. A try at the line netted two yards. Then Gould again hurled the pigskin, this time selecting his left end for receiver and sending a low drive to him on Crofton’s twenty-five-yard line. For a moment it looked as though Hawthorne would score there and then and the runner sprinted to Crofton’s eight-yard line before he was pulled down from behind. Across the field Hawthorne was wild with joy and two hundred of her loyal sons shouted and danced with delight. Then Hawthorne tried one rush and lost a yard. Crofton was now plainly over anxious and when, on the next play, Gould sent his right half-back at the right wing on a delayed pass, Tearney was drawn in and the orange-and-black player simply romped across the line for a touchdown. From this Hawthorne’s right end kicked a goal from a difficult angle and the score was tied.

Then, it seemed, that Hawthorne had found herself. Success breeds success. The Orange-and-Black took heart and after Crofton had kicked off again Gould ran the ball back thirty yards, eluding half the Crofton team, and placed it on her enemy’s forty-five-yard line. Crofton’s defense was now severely tested. Gould gave the ball to his half-backs and his full-back and twice Hawthorne made first down by short line plunges. The vulnerable spot in Crofton’s defense was at left tackle where Parker, willing enough though he was, lacked experience and weight. On her twenty-five-yard line Crofton stiffened up and Gould tried a forward pass that proved illegal. A plunge at center gave the ball to Crofton, and Arnold punted on the first down. Gould caught the ball and was promptly laid on his back by Gil. A penalty for holding forced Hawthorne back to her thirty yards. Gould tried an end run that gained but seven yards and punted on the next down. Crofton made three yards through right tackle and then Arnold got off a beautiful forward pass to Gil, and the latter, by squirming and crowding, finally reached Hawthorne’s twenty-yard line. Two rushes failed to gain much distance and Arnold dropped back to the thirty-yard line and, with every watcher holding his breath, drop-kicked the oval over the cross-bar. It was Crofton’s turn to exult and exult she did, while from the opposite side of the gridiron Hawthorne hurled defiance. A moment later the first half ended, the score 9 to 6; Crofton ahead by three points.

Jim returned to his party on the seats and squeezed himself down beside Jeffrey.

“Isn’t it just glorious?” cried Hope, her cheeks crimson and her hair, loosened by the breeze, fluttering about her face.

“Glorious!” laughed her brother. “It’s jimmy!”

“Can we hold them, do you think?” asked Jeffrey.

Jim shook his head. “I don’t know. I heard Johnny tell Duncan Sargent a minute ago that he’d give a hundred dollars if the game were over. If Hawthorne pounded away at the left side of our line she could gain like anything. Parker’s doing the best he can but he can’t stop them. How do you like the game, Mr. Hanks?”

“Very much indeed. I—I find myself quite excited. Hope has been instructing me in the—er—fine points, but I fear she has found me a very stupid pupil.”

“Well, I don’t think I can give you more than a C,” laughed Hope. “And mama gets a D minus. Awhile ago she wanted to know why the tall man in the white sweater didn’t play harder!”

“Well, nobody told me he was the referee, or whatever he is,” declared Mrs. Hazard. “For my part I think I’d much prefer to be he.”

“Jim, I hope we just—just gobble them up this half,” said Hope.

“Gobble them up,” repeated Mr. Hanks. “Is that—er—a football term or do you use the phrase metaphorically?”

“She means eat ’em alive, sir,” laughed Jeffrey.

“We won’t do that,” said Jim with a shake of his head. “All we can hope to do is hold them where they are. Isn’t Gil playing a peach of a game? And Poke, too. Did you see him go through for that touchdown? He was like a human battering ram!”

“How’s Gary doing?” asked Jeffrey.

“Putting up a great game; playing a heap better than Sargent, I think. But I suppose that’s natural enough. Sargent’s captain and that always puts a chap off his game, they say. If I was that Hawthorne quarter I’d plug away at Parker and Sargent, and I’ll bet I’d make some bully gains.”

“They probably will this half,” said Jeffrey. “Their coach has probably seen just what you have. Somebody ought to tell Gould, too, that he is punting too low. He doesn’t give his ends a chance to get down the field. We’ve gained every time on exchange of kicks.”

At that moment a voice cried, “Hazard! Hazard! Is Hazard here?”

Jim jumped to his feet and answered. A substitute player in a much begrimed uniform ran up. “Johnny wants to see you at the gym,” he called. “Come right up.”

“What the dickens does he want?” muttered Jim. “Keep my seat for me, Jeff.”

He found Johnny in the midst of wild confusion. Rubbers were busy with strains and bruises, twenty fellows were talking at once. The close air of the locker-room was heavy with the fumes of alcohol and liniment. Johnny was deep in conversation with captain and manager.

“You wanted to see me?” asked Jim, pushing his way through the crowd.

“Yes, I do! Look here, Hazard, where do you stand?”

“Stand?”

“Yes,” replied Johnny impatiently. “Isn’t there any way you can play this half?”

“I’m afraid not,” answered Jim. “Mr. Gordon wired that I’d have to take an exam before I could play.”

“You didn’t take it?”

“No, sir. There wasn’t any way to take it that I knew of.”

Johnny looked at Sargent questioningly. “You wouldn’t risk it, would you?” he asked in a low voice. Sargent shook his head.

“I’d be afraid to. J. G.’s a tartar about that sort of thing. Better try Needham.”

“All right.” Johnny nodded to Jim. “Sorry. Thought maybe you could manage somehow to help us out. Better not go against faculty, though.”

“I’m willing to risk it if you need me,” replied Jim quietly.

“I won’t have it,” said Sargent decisively. “You’d get fired as sure as fate, Hazard. Much obliged, just the same.”

“Time’s up!” called Johnny.

Jim walked back to the field despondently. If they had given him any encouragement, he told himself, he’d have risked J. G.’s displeasure and played. When he reached his seat Jeffrey asked:

“What was it, Jim?”

“Nothing much. Johnny thought maybe I could play in this half. They’re taking Parker out. Needham’s going in. He will be twice as bad as Parker, I guess.”

“Didn’t Johnny know?”

“About me? I guess so. He seemed to think I might have taken an exam somehow. I didn’t see how I could have, do you?”

Jeffrey shook his head. “No, I don’t.” Jim glanced along to find Mr. Hanks peering interestedly through his spectacles.

“Do I understand, Jim,” he asked, “that you could play if you passed an examination?”

“Yes, sir, I suppose so. That’s what Mr. Gordon wired, you know.”

“Do they—er—need you, do you think?”

“They seem to think so,” answered Jim. “They want a fellow to take Parker’s place.”

“Well—well—” Mr. Hanks’ eyes snapped behind the thick lenses of his glasses—“do you think you could pass an examination now?”

“Now!” exclaimed Jim. “Why—why—do you mean—”

“I mean now!” repeated Mr. Hanks crisply.

“Yes, sir!”

“Then I’ll examine you, and if you pass—”

“Jeff,” cried Jim, as he jumped to his feet, “run over and tell Johnny to find some one to take my place with the line. Tell him I’m taking my exam! Tell him to get me some togs and I’ll be ready to play in—” He stopped and looked at Mr. Hanks.

“Ten minutes!” said the instructor.

Jeffrey seized his crutches and hobbled quickly away, while Mr. Hanks and Jim left their seats and disappeared behind the throng. At that minute the Crofton team trotted back on to the field and the cheering began again.