Ned took entire charge of the negotiations at the clothing store and all Cal had to do was to stand by, listen, watch and try on the various suits that were brought forth. Ned refused to consider anything under twelve dollars.

“Those cheap things don’t pay, Cal,” he said decisively. “They’re just shoddy; not an ounce of wool in them; and they won’t wear two weeks without getting to look like rags.”

“The suit I brought back,” confided Cal in a voice lowered so as not to pain the salesman, “seemed to be most all splinters and pieces of bur.”

“All wood and a yard wide,” commented Ned with no effort to moderate his voice and no concern for the clerk’s feelings. “Probably made from one of those wooden sheep you see in the toy-shops.”

At last Ned was suited, and, without intending a pun, so was Cal. The suit selected was a rough mixture that the salesman called a Harris tweed but which Ned was certain had never crossed the water. It was gray in effect, but close examination revealed a little of every color known. It was really rather stylish and had at the same time the merit, approved of Cal, of not readily showing dirt. The price was twelve dollars and Cal went down into his pocket for an additional two dollars and fifteen cents. Then Ned insisted on the purchase of a blue necktie, price thirty-five cents, and a leather belt at half a dollar. Cal was growing uneasy and was very glad when the suit was boxed and delivered to him and he could hurry out before Ned discovered any further extravagances for him to indulge in.

On the way home they talked quite frankly of the mystery of Ned’s missing eight dollars. “Of course, Cal,” said his room-mate, “I might have been mistaken about seeing you up that night, but it’s hard to believe. Still, you ought to know whether you were up or not.”

“I don’t understand that,” said Cal. “I’m just certain sure that I wasn’t out of bed, but both you and Spud saw someone.”

“Yes, and I’d say it was a burglar, only it isn’t likely a burglar would parade around in night-clothes, is it? Of course, it might have been one of the other fellows in there for some joke or other. Maybe when he heard about the money being missing he didn’t like to fess up.”

“I’ll bet that was it!” cried Cal with relief. “Only—only where did the money get to?”

“Well, I’ve been saying lately that I thought I’d just naturally put it somewhere and forgotten about it, and now I’m beginning to think that’s what really happened, Cal. Only where the dickens did I put it? I’ve looked all over the shop.”

“You’re quite sure you didn’t spend it?” asked Cal.

“Of course I am. Gee, if I spent eight dollars I guess I’d have something to show for it, wouldn’t I?”

“I hope so,” laughed Cal. “Unless you blew it all in on sodas and candy.”

“Even then I’d have a jolly good tummy-ache to remember it by!”

“Well, I hope you’ll find it some time, Ned.”

“So do I. Say, how’s your chin?”

“Hurts sort of. So does my head, I cal’late I’ve got some lumps back there.” Cal felt and nodded gravely. “Dandies,” he added.

“I’m sorry,” Ned said. “But I want you to know that I’ve got a bunch of sore knuckles here, too.” He viewed them aggrievedly. “I guess we’ll have to fake up a yarn to tell the fellows at the house.”

“Say we were scuffling and fell,” said Cal. “That’s true, isn’t it?”

“True enough, I guess. Though I don’t just see how you managed to fall on the side of your chin.”

“I cal—guess we won’t have to give any details,” answered Cal. “What time is it? I’m fearfully hungry.”

Ned looked at his watch and they hastened their pace, reaching West House a quarter of an hour before dinner time. At table Cal’s chin didn’t go unnoticed, and although the explanation tendered was accepted without protest the rest of West House knew very well that Ned and Cal had had more than a scuffle. But whatever had happened had cleared the air. That was very evident. The occupants of the Den now seemed as unwilling to lose sight of each other for an instant as before they had been unwilling to remain together. Dinner was an excited function that day, for everyone’s thoughts were on the football game at two-thirty and the coming contest was talked of over and over.

“We’ll get licked worse than last time,” declared Sandy.

“Then there won’t be any third game?” asked Clara disappointedly.

“Oh, yes, there will. We play three games anyhow,” The Fungus reassured him. “And it isn’t very often that the third game isn’t the—the crucial one.”

“Great talk, Fungus,” Dutch applauded.

“Yes, that’s a peach of a word,” agreed Spud. “Got any more like it, Toadstool? I like to use ’em when I write home. Makes folks think I’m really learning lots.” Then, seeing his opportunity to engage Sandy in dispute, something that Spud loved above all things, he turned to the House Leader. “You’re all wrong, though, Sandy, about our getting licked this afternoon. Can’t be did.”

“I hope I am wrong,” answered Sandy pessimistically, “but I can’t figure it out that way.”

“Well, I can. For one thing, you know mighty well that House has improved about fifty per cent. in team-play this last week.”

“It’s improved, yes, but not any fifty per cent. And what do you suppose Hall has been doing? Standing still? Young Hoyt told me this morning that they’ve come on like anything.”

“So have we,” said Spud stoutly. “Our backs are every bit as good as theirs, while as for the line, why, I can’t see but what we had it on them a bit last game.”

“If only we had a couple of good ends,” lamented Hoop.

“Oh, you dry up and blow away! Say, Hoop, is it true that Brooksie is going to let you carry the water pail today?”

“If I do you won’t get any of it!”

“And you won’t be able to carry it if you don’t stop eating pretty soon. Better speak to him, Sandy. That’s his third dip in the mash.”

“That’s a whopper,” growled Hoop. “I’ve only had potatoes twice; haven’t I, Marm?”

“I don’t know, Hoop, but they won’t hurt you, surely. Potatoes never hurt anyone. Vegetarians always eat lots of potatoes.”

“So do Episcopalians,” murmured Spud. “Pass ’em this way, please, somebody.”

“You’d all better go slow on eating,” cautioned Sandy. “The game will be called in an hour and a half.”

“Pshaw, I’ll be hungry again by that time,” said Dutch.

At half-past one they set out for the gymnasium, all save Clara, who had promised to take Molly over to see the game and who went over to the Curtis’s to get her. Even Mrs. Linn was going, but couldn’t leave her house yet. As the first contest had taken place on the Hall gridiron, today’s was scheduled for the House field. On each side settees from the gymnasium were being strung along for the accommodation of the audience, a small and select one. The faculty, in order to avoid any appearance of partiality, distributed themselves on both sides of the gridiron. Today Doctor Webster and his family were seated amongst the Hall supporters, while Mr. Spander, Mr. Kendall, and Mr. Fordyce, although residents of the Hall, were mingling with the wearers of the red. Mr. James, attired in a pair of gray trousers and an old Dartmouth sweater, was to referee. The umpire was a man from the village. The afternoon was bright and fairly warm, with a mild westerly breeze down the field. The scene was a very pretty one, the red and blue of the players scattered over the green field and of the substitutes on the side-lines supplying spots of vivid color.

Clara and Molly reached the field only a few minutes before the game began. The rival teams were already practising and footballs were arching up and down against the blue of the autumn sky. They found seats near the middle of the gridiron on the House side amongst a scattering of non-combatants. Molly had plenty of attention, for by this time she had become acquainted with most of the boys of the two Houses and not a few Hall residents. Young Hoyt, a substitute back for the Hall Team, joined them and tried to persuade Molly to substitute a blue arm-band for the red streamer she wore. But Hoyt was in the enemy’s country and was speedily driven away, laughingly defiant.

“You’ll wish you had this when the game’s over, Molly,” he warned her. “Get your winning colors!”

Mrs. Linn arrived on the scene, flushed and out of breath, just as Frank Brooks and Pete Grow were tossing for choice of goal. Mrs. Butterfield, matron at East House, made room for her beside her and a discussion of the art of preserving began at once and lasted practically all through the game. Marm declared afterwards, however, that it was the most interesting football game she had ever seen. Grow won the toss and took the west goal, thus getting the wind in Hall’s favor, and the teams arranged themselves while House and Hall cheered their warriors.

It was evident even from the first moment that Brooks had succeeded in working a big improvement in his team, for after getting the kick-off House worked the ball well past the middle of the field, making two first downs before losing it by an on-side kick that went wrong. And when placed on the defensive House still showed improvement over last week’s form. But Hall had been coming too, and Sawyer, the big full-back, made good gains through the red line. But Grow realized that with the wind favoring him his game was to punt and so get the ball within scoring distance. In the middle of the field Grow himself dropped out of the line and sent off a long high spiral that the wind helped considerably and The Fungus caught it on House’s ten yard-line and dodged back to the twenty before he was downed. Boyle and Ned, alternating, took the pigskin back to the thirty-five yards and there M’Crae punted. The ball was Hall’s on her fifty yards, and after two plunges that fell short of the required distance Grow kicked again. This time the ball went over the goal-line and M’Crae touched it back.

House elected to put it in scrimmage on the twenty-five yards, but was soon forced to punt once more. This time luck favored the Red, for Hall’s right half misjudged the ball, tipped it with his fingers and was then pushed aside by Spud, who fell on it on the Hall’s forty-five yard-line. The handful of House supporters cheered wildly. But House lost the pigskin presently on downs and Hall tried an end run that worked beautifully around Miller and landed the oval just inside House territory. Sawyer was thrown for a loss and again Grow punted. M’Crae didn’t do that punt justice, for he misjudged its distance sadly and had to chase back to almost his goal-line after it. Luckily he was afforded good protection from the Hall’s ends and was able to scoop it up and dodge back to his fifteen yard-line before he was smothered.

House set to work then and uncovered a couple of new plays that caught Hall off her guard and advanced the ball to the forty yards. There, however, Hall’s line tightened, an end run lost ground and House was set back five yards for being off-side. M’Crae therefore was forced to kick. It was a poor attempt and went out near the center of the field. Hall worked Miller’s end once more and again tore off a good gain there. A second attempt, however, was spoiled and Hall tried a forward pass. It succeeded nicely and it was first down for the Hall near the side of the field on House’s thirty-five yards. Hall tried a skin-tackle play toward the center of the gridiron, but House was expecting it and Hall was piled up for a scant gain of a yard. Sawyer tried a plunge straight through center and found an opening that suited him beautifully and would have made his six yards a touchdown had not House’s secondary defence been on the alert. With three yards to go on third down Grow decided to try a drop-kick at goal, although the angle was a difficult one. Very calmly he stepped back and held out his hands and along the side-lines substitutes and spectators held their breath. Center made a good pass and although House came tearing, jumping through with up-stretched hands, the pigskin sailed away in a low curve toward the cross-bar. But the wind which so far had aided Pete’s fortunes now favored the adversary by turning the ball’s flight to the left so that it passed a scant foot outside the post.

House capered with glee and the wearers of the Red along the side-lines expressed relief in cheers. That was the last time either goal was threatened in the first half and when the twenty-five minutes of playing time had expired the pigskin was almost in the exact center of the field, just about where it had started, which, when you come to think of it, must have been a trifle discouraging to the pigskin, whatever the players thought about it!

“If we can do as well in the next half,” said Spud to Sandy as they trotted back to the gymnasium, “we’ll stand a good show of scoring.”

“I think the wind is going down,” answered Sandy gloomily.

“Going down fiddlesticks! You’re an old grump, Sandy!”

Back on the field Molly had a very good time during the intermission, for the Second Juniors of House and Hall were very attentive. Mrs. Linn discovered her, too, and she was presented to Mrs. Butterfield and Mrs. Kendall, the latter matron at the Hall and wife of the mathematics instructor. When Mrs. Kendall invited Molly to come and see her at the Hall Clara scowled. To visit at the Hall savored to him of high treason, especially during the football season! Molly also met Mr. Kendall. Grouch, as the boys called him, could be very pleasant on occasions and this proved to be one of the occasions. The boys looked on in amazement while he laughed and conversed with Molly, for so much amiability on the part of the teacher was unprecedented in their experience.

House began the second half of the game with the breeze at her back, and Brooks’s kick-off went over the goal-line. From the twenty-five yards Hall worked back to near the center of the field and there lost the ball on a fumble. The Fungus got a nasty whack on the head in this melee and had to be doctored up a bit before play could go on. A few minutes later Brooks sent him off and H. Westlake took his place. M’Crae kicked on second down from Hall’s forty yards and the ball was caught on the five yard-line. House cheered mightily at that, but Hall started in to rip things up and tore off twenty yards by a bewildering variety of smoothly working plays before House got together and stopped her. Then over-eagerness cost House five yards for off-side and after another attempt at the line Hall kicked. Westlake, at left half, ran the pigskin back fifteen yards by excellent dodging, and House started for Hall’s goal. For the first time in that period House got thoroughly together and the plays went off like clock-work. Across the fifty-five yard-line the teams went, Hall retreating stubbornly, and across the forty-five, Ned and Boyle making good gains through the left of Hall’s line. There, however, the Blue tightened up. A plunge by Ned netted a scant two yards and Boyle could do no better. M’Crae went back to kick, but for once Hall broke through, and the quarter, finding himself besieged, dodged off to the left with the ball under his arm. But although he ran half-way across the field, throwing off tackler after tackler, he was unable to find a place to turn in and was at last brought down on the side-line. House had failed of her distance by a couple of yards and Hall took the pigskin.

For the next ten minutes play was confined between one forty yard-line and the other. M’Crae and Brooks took turn at booting the leather, but their gains on kicks were not great, for Hall’s backs always managed to run the ball in five or ten yards before being stopped. Spud showed himself a good end that day, but Miller was slow and uncertain and it wasn’t long before Welch was given his place. Hall made two changes. Harris substituted McDonald at quarter because of his greater kicking ability and Barnes took Borden’s place at left half. Already fifteen minutes of the twenty-five had expired and the spectators were beginning to reconcile themselves to a scoreless contest. But there is no telling what is to happen in a football game.

It was House’s ball on her own forty-five yards. Boyle plunged at center and secured three yards. Then M’Crae dropped back as though to kick and the ball went at a side pass to Ned who ran wide into the field, with good interference, and found his chance of turning in. Apparently a run of any distance was out of the question, for the blue-stockinged youths were all about him. But Westlake spilled one, Ned dodged a second, Spud put a third out of the way, and almost before anyone realized it, Ned had a practically clear field before him. Behind him came friend and foe alike, stumbling, falling, going down together often enough, and in front of him were quarter and left half. Ned feinted near the forty yards and shook off the clutch of the half-back, but quarter was wary and in a moment that run was over and Ned was down, thrown out of bounds on the thirty yard-line. But it had been soul-stirring while it lasted and House cheered from the side of the field.

In came the ball fifteen paces and it was House’s first down. If she could only work nearer the center of the field, a goal from placement or drop-kick would be practicable. But naturally Hall was expecting such an attempt and Westlake’s try around Smith’s end lost House a yard. But the ball was in front of the right-hand goal-post, and Boyle, on second down, smashed through left-tackle for a dozen feet. It was now House’s chance to win the game if win she could. Brooks and M’Crae consulted hurriedly. The ball was near the twenty-five yard-line and a placement kick was more certain if the House line could hold. But it had given way once today and Brooks feared that it might again. So M’Crae was directed to try a drop-kick. The little quarter-back turned and walked to his place behind the thirty-five yard-line, held out his hands and gave the signal.

“Now hold them!” called Brooks.

Back went the ball, straight but too high. The lines heaved for an instant and then the blue jerseys broke through here and there and sprang toward the path of the ball. M’Crae’s foot swung forward and the ball sped upward and away, barely missing one eager, frantic hand. Down went M’Crae, with the Hall center on top of him. There was one tense instant of suspense, an instant in which it seemed at first that the kick would fall short of the bar. But M’Crae had counted on the wind and the wind did its duty. Down settled the pigskin, turning lazily over and over and for a brief moment something obscured it. That something was a wooden cross-bar. House had scored!

Eleven red-shirted youths leaped about like maniacs. Spud did a series of hand-springs and Boyle, only one generation from the Ould Sod, jumped into the air and cracked his heels together gayly. On the House side of the field Molly stood on a settee and shrieked shrilly, small juniors shouted and capered, substitutes waved blankets and sweaters and members of the faculty smiled and clapped their hands approvingly. Across the gridiron the Hall supporters cheered earnestly in the face of defeat.

Three to nothing was good enough if only House could keep the score at that. With seven minutes of playing time left she started in again with every effort bent on defence. Hall now had the wind in her favor again and Harris put all his strength into his kicks. Slowly House was forced back. But the sands were running and there was but five minutes remaining. And now, with the ball in House’s possession under the shadow of her own goal, but four. A plunge at left guard; two yards. A slide off right tackle; two yards more. Brooks, tired and panting, stepped back under the cross-bar.

“Hold them hard, fellows!” he cried hoarsely.

Back came the ball, but with it, alas, came half the blue team! Yells and grunts; the crashing of bodies; confusion and pandemonium! The whistle shrilled. Behind the goal-line was a writhing mass of blue legs and red, but where was the ball? Into the pile dived the referee.

“Get up! Get up!”

Off tumbled one player, Williams of Hall. Another, that was Sandy, and a third, that was Pete Grow. It was like pulling sacks of meal from a pile. A blue player and a red, a red player and a blue, until, finally, the bottom was reached and Jim, squirming through with his hand, found the ball. “Get up, I tell you!” he demanded. And there at the bottom, with every breath crushed out of him for the moment, lay Dutch with the ball clutched to his breast in a death-like grip.

“Safety,” said Mr. James. “Look after that man, Brooks.”

House players slapped each other on the back and grinned joyfully. Hall had scored a safety, but it had looked for a moment like a touchdown. House was still in the lead, the score three to two. Dutch was sponged with cold water and his arms were pumped up and down, and presently he rolled over and drew a dozen good long breaths and then was pulled to his feet.

“You go off,” said Brooks. “Send in Boland.”

So Cal had his first baptism by fire in the succeeding two and a half minutes that remained, a time all too short for him to get over his stage-fright. Luckily the enemy didn’t assail his position very strongly and none discovered what a state of nervousness he was in. A few flights of the ball, an end run that was nipped in the bud, a half-dozen hopeless, desperate plunges at the red line and the game was over, and House ran joyously off the field, victory perched on her banners.