The Bursley game was to be started at two o’clock. At half past ten that morning it became known that Terry Doyle, who had been missing from his usual haunts for ten days, had caught up with his studies and that the faculty had reinstated him. The tidings brought vast relief and satisfaction to Maple Hill. Without Terry Doyle defeat was possible; with him victory was assured. So argued the school. The twins heard the news over the hedge from Tad, who, having nothing better to do that morning, was trying to kill time by manufacturing a bow from a section of barrel stave.

“I’m so glad!” exclaimed Matty, clapping her hands and smiling radiantly over the hedge.

“So glad,” echoed May, equally delighted of countenance.

“Now we’ll surely win, won’t we, Tad?” continued Matty.

Tad chose to be pessimistic. “Can’t say. Maybe. They’ve got a corking team over there at Bursley this year. You girls going?”

“Yes.” This from Matty. After a pause, “I suppose you’ll be with the cheerers, Tad,” she added.

Tad nodded. “Have to. Sorry. I’ll take you over, though, if you’ll be ready by one-thirty.”

“Will you? Then we’ll be ready, won’t we, May?”

“We’ll be ready,” agreed May with decision.

“Will Rod play to-day?” asked Matty, after a moment of silence spent in watching Tad’s manipulation of his knife. Tad looked cautiously at Rodney’s window. Then, lowering his voice:

“Not a chance,” he answered, “after what happened last Saturday. At least, that’s what all the fellows say. Poor old Rod made an awful mess of it, didn’t he?”

“I don’t think they ought to hold that against him,” said Matty stoutly. “Lots of other boys have done things just as bad. Besides, he might—might redeem himself to-day if they’d let him play.”

“Suppose he might. Then again he mightn’t. As far as I’m concerned I wish they’d give him another show. Anyway, Cotting kept him on the squad, and that was pretty fair.”

“What are you going to do with that?” asked May, nodding at the implement Tad was concerned with.

“Shoot tigers,” replied the boy. “Saw a beauty last night near your summer-house. Must have been twelve feet long from tip to tip.”

“Twelve inches, you mean,” answered Matty scathingly. “That was the Thurston’s black and yellow cat. He comes over here to catch birds, the old rascal. We’ll be ready at half past one, Tad. Don’t forget.”

“All right. See you later.”

The twins’ faces disappeared from above the hedge and Tad, snapping his knife shut, went off in search of a cord.

Shortly after one o’clock Bursley came. As she had only to journey by train or carriage down the river to Milon, a distance of something under two miles from the school, and then cross in the ferry to Greenridge, the trip was brief and inexpensive, and as a result practically the entire enrollment of Bursley School, over two hundred all told, invaded the stronghold of the enemy that morning. As the tiny ferryboat was unable to accommodate them all on one voyage, it landed its first contingent and then hurried back across the river, puffing and panting importantly, and brought the rest, the first hundred or so waiting at the landing and raiding the popcorn and peanut stands. Finally, when they had formed into a long procession two abreast to make more of a showing, they started off up the hill. Every boy was armed with a small red megaphone adorned with a blue B, and through it as he kept step, or tried to, for marching up the steep ascent of River Street is no light task, he proclaimed over and over:

Chanting their refrain and keeping time with aching legs, they stormed the hill. Greenridge, from the sidewalks, looked on smilingly and occasionally waved a defiant Green-and-Gray banner in the face of the invader. At the head of the procession two cheer leaders held a six foot banner of red silk on which “Bursley” was blazoned in big blue letters. Long before they reached the Y at the top of the hill their deep, sonorous slogan had penetrated to the campus, and Maple Hill emptied itself from dormitory and boarding-house and assembled along the road. Bursley always turned into Academy Street and marched through the campus on her way to the field, and always, where the driveway separated in front of Main Hall, she paused and cheered her rival. And to-day she made no exception. Still chanting, although with failing voices, her “B, U, R, S, L, E, Y, Rah, rah, rah!” she followed the head cheer leader as, waving his yard-long megaphone, he swung through the big gate between rows of smilingly hostile faces. They were a good, sturdy looking lot of fellows, those Bursleyans, and Jack Billings said as much to Warren Hoyt as the two, having raced across from Westcott’s, watched them file past.

“Not so worse,” replied Warren in his rather affected manner. “Sort of lack class, though, it seems to me.”

Jack laughed. “You’re a beast of a snob, Warren,” he said; “or you want fellows to think you are. You know perfectly well that those chaps are every bit as good as we are. Now, don’t you?”

Warren raised his eyebrows languidly. “Er—theoretically,” he said.

“Theoretically! What the dickens do you mean by theoretically?” demanded Jack. “Come on. They’re getting ready to cheer.”

Over in front of Main Hall the procession had stopped and the cheer leaders were hurrying to positions along the line. Then:

“All ready, Bursley!” announced the chief marshal of the parade, his big megaphone high in air. “Regular cheer for Maple Hill! One! Two! Three!”

“Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Maple Hill!” shouted two hundred voices, and a responsive “A-a-ay!” swelled from the throats of the enemy. Then Borden, Fourth Form President and Crew Captain, sprang to the steps and waved his arms and Maple Hill returned the compliment. More “A-a-ays!” from both contingents, and Bursley took up her march again, and, having in a measure recovered her breath, started once more her reiterative chorus as she went tramp, tramp, tramp along the gravel driveway and around the end of Main Hall on her way to the field. Maple Hill watched with grudging admiration. Bursley made a brave showing, there was no gainsaying that. There was a fine nonchalance in the way in which the veriest junior at the tag-end of the procession carried himself and a sturdy self-possession and equanimity in the faces of all. They were proud to be Burslians, and, incongruous as that might seem at first thought, Maple Hill on reflection felt a thrill of sympathy and understanding. Certainly those shouting Red-and-Blue partisans had made a frightful mistake in the choice of a school, but, having committed themselves, they were right to stand up for it, to be proud of it and to fight for it! Many Maple Hill hearts warmed toward the paraders as they disappeared from sight, still chanting their “B, U, R, S, L, E, Y, Rah, rah, rah!” around the corner of the building. There had been a few jeers from youngsters who knew no better, and some smiles of derision as Bursley had passed, but on the whole Maple Hill had been polite, respectful, even friendly in a distant way. Why not? They could well afford to let Bursley have their fun now since in two hours they would send her home defeated and disappointed. At least, so most of Maple Hill argued.

Meanwhile Bursley went on her way, quite as convinced of a coming victory as the enemy, and debouched onto the field and took possession of the cheering section reserved for her on the further stand. There many fellows, who had been unable or disinclined to attend the early dinner at school, produced packets of sandwiches and fruit and, with much skylarking and laughter, fortified the inner man.

At one-thirty Maple Hill assembled in front of Main Hall. They were far fewer in numbers than Bursley, but they had the Greenridge Silver Cornet Band to lead them, and that more than equalized matters. The band, more enthusiastic than skilled, more vociferous than tuneful, numbered but eight, though you’d scarcely have guessed its quota as less than twenty had you heard it blare out a Sousa march. While the boys hurried from all directions to form in line the band played “Everybody’s Doing It” so inspiritingly that dignified Fourth Form fellows clasped each other and danced hilariously over gravel and lawn to the astonishment of First Formers and the laughter of others. At last they were in line, four abreast, arranged by forms, Borden, armed with a big green megaphone bearing a gray “M. H.,” in command. In front went the Silver Cornet Band, gay in blue and gold uniforms, almost as excited as the students, struggling hard to find the step. Then the bass-drum sounded “Attention!” and the strains of “See Who’s Marching” burst forth as the procession passed through the gate and straightened itself out on Academy Street. Feet tramp-tramped in unison, the drums thumped, the wind instruments blared and four score voices took up the refrain:

Into Bow Street they swung, into Arrow and, finally, into Larch, where, opposite the gymnasium, they stopped and cheered the team, the coach, the trainer and everyone else they could think of. Then the drum thumped and they went on, Borden swinging his big megaphone like a giant baton, and turned into the field. Bursley welcomed them with long-drawn “A-a-ays!” of approval as they came in singing and found their seats. Already the stands were well-filled with spectators from Greenridge and Milon and nearby towns, with Old Boys back for the game and with parents and relatives and friends. All the morning automobiles decorated with green and gray or red and blue, had chugged into Greenridge, and now they were honking along the road outside, seeking the parking space at the far end of the big field. The four cheer leaders, each armed with a big green megaphone, took up their stations along the foot of the sloping stand and the cheering began. Maple Hill cheered Bursley and Bursley responded through its red and blue megaphones that lent a fine dash of color to the opposite sections.

Then the Bursley team dashed on like a lot of young colts and the Bursley sections went wild. Blankets were thrown aside and the invading warriors, brave in red jerseys and red and blue stockings jumped into the field, formed into squads and tore up and down in signal practice. A minute later the Maple Hill trainer appeared and the local partisans cheered loudly. More cheers from the Green-and-Gray broke forth when Tim, the rubber, appeared propelling a wheelbarrow containing a carboy of water, a bag of footballs and a miscellaneous collection of paraphernalia. Then there was a commotion at the gate, the cheer leaders froze into attention with upraised hands and the Maple Hill team burst through the crowd at the entrance. The big megaphones were tossed aside and the four leaders, green-sweatered and bare-headed, waved and leaped as the stand broke forth into a measured cheer that might have been heard down at the river—and doubtless was!

Soon the gridiron was busy with the trotting squads and alive with flying pigskins. Gordon and Tyson evoked applause by their punting, as did also the Bursley crack. Stacey tried a few goals from placement and at one minute past two the teams trotted back to the side lines. A small and immaculate referee and a large and imposing umpire appeared and the rival captains walked into the middle of the field, shook hands and conversed a moment with the officials. Then a coin glinted as it was tossed in air and fell to the ground. A cheer from the further side of the field proclaimed that Bursley had won the toss. The captains retired and the cheers began again. The linesman with his two assistants, a green-sweatered youth and a red-sweatered one, appeared with the chain. Maple Hill started one of the songs in her repertoire, with the band, at the foot of the cheering section, doing its best to follow the tune.

Doctor and Mrs. Farron, accompanied by two submasters, came on the field just as the opposing teams scattered to their positions. A burst of hand-clapping welcomed them. It was a well-known fact that the Head Master wasn’t able to tell the difference between a touchdown and a fair catch, but he attended the games when it was possible, and the fellows appreciated it.

Bursley had chosen to receive the kick-off. As there was practically no wind to render one goal more desirable than the other the winning of the toss had not counted for much. The sky to-day was almost cloudless and the thermometer in front of Main Hall had registered forty-seven at noon. In short it was, from the point of view of player and spectator alike, an ideal day for football. As the teams awaited the sound of the whistle a hush fell over the stands. The Bursley players looked fast and extremely well-conditioned, and were rangy rather than heavy. Their center, who was to oppose the big Pounder, was a smallish youth who looked as though he would tip the scales at not over a hundred and forty. In spite of Tad’s disparaging criticism, the Bursley uniform of red jerseys and red-and-blue-ringed stockings looked bright and attractive, rather paling the quieter colors of Maple Hill. Borden, whose green sweater held on its breast crossed oars under the gray “M. H.,” summoned one last cheer, and as it died away on the Autumn air the whistle shrilled and the Big Game was on!