After college closed Frank Armstrong and Jimmy Turner joined a party of engineers and their assistants, whose work it was to survey a new railroad through the heart of New Brunswick, one of the Maritime provinces of Canada, and for two months they enjoyed the life of veritable savages in the open air. Following the pointing finger of the compass they burrowed through the tangled forests, sleeping sometimes rolled in blankets with a bunch of fragrant hemlock boughs for a pillow, and, only when the weather was bad, under the protecting service tents, several of which had been brought along for bad weather. Many nights, however, the tents were never set up at all, and the whole party of young men slept with only the stars for their roof. Frank made himself invaluable at river crossings, of which there were many, for bridges were few and far between. It was his duty to swim the barring river with the engineers' "chains" which he did with such success that he was nicknamed "the torpedo." Later he was followed by other members of the party on homemade catamarans.

The life agreed with both the boys, and when the party finished its work and took train at the little station of Harcourt on the Intercolonial railroad, with clothing ragged from the rough caress of the tangled woods and shoes guiltless of blacking, they might well have been mistaken for young lumbermen instead of college students.

Ten days later they were in football clothes on Yale field, obeying the call for early fall practice before college opened. Frank had put on ten pounds during the summer, and for the first time felt himself strong enough to withstand the punishing work of the game. He was hard as nails, in perfect condition and eager for any work the coach might set him at. Again he was placed at end in practice by Coach Hanley, and made such good progress that in the middle of the first game he was called in to play the position, where he acquitted himself with such credit that he earned a word of praise from Captain Baldwin.

Through the long, hard grueling work of the fall he fought for his place, alternating between the 'Varsity and the second eleven, learning something every day under the tuition of this or that coach for the purpose of helping Yale turn out a winning team. Turner was firmly established at right halfback, and gave promise of becoming a great player. His irresistible smashes earned many yards for Yale in the minor games of the season, and it was a common prediction that he would be first choice for the place in the championship games. He succeeded not by any great speed but by his instinct for the opening his linemen made and his almost uncanny ability to keep his feet and burrow for a gain through the worst tangle of human bodies. It was Turner who was always given the ball down near the goal line to carry it across, and he rarely failed to accomplish his end.

The uncertainty regarding who was to play right end was banished in the Brown game which preceded the Princeton game by one week. The game was a hard one, and neither side could score a touchdown. Frank was called in at right end to replace Saunders, and on the second line-up took a well delivered forward pass and scored with practically a free field. Twice again before the game was over he proved his ability in this particular play. His baseball helped him in the handling of the football, and his speed and elusiveness in an open field added to his chances. It was therefore no surprise to anyone in the college when he was slated to go in the first line-up against Princeton.

"I'm putting you in, Armstrong," said Coach Hanley, "in spite of the fact that Saunders has had more experience. In other words, I'm taking a chance with you. Don't fall down. This Princeton team has a strong line and we've got to fox them with the forward pass. Keep cool, and use your head all the time."

The instructions sounded easy enough, but when Frank took his place at right end on the day of the game, under the eyes of thirty thousand people, to say that he was nervous expressed only a small part of his feelings. While the big Yale center placed the ball at midfield for the kick-off he lived, like other high-strung players before him, what seemed a whole year of his lifetime. He was almost overcome by the sudden fear that he might not be able to do what was expected of him, and the barking cheers from the Yale side of the field added to his nervousness instead of encouraging him. Twice Biddle, the center, placed the ball, and twice the stiff breeze topped it over. Frank's heart was pounding, and he felt weak and ineffective, but at the shrill scream of the whistle, and as the ball rose in the air and soared off in the direction of Princeton's goal, his mind cleared like a flash. He regained his grip on himself, and sped off down the field like the wind, feeling a moment later the grim joy of shock and strain as his arms closed around the legs of the man with the ball, who came sweeping up the field, behind what seemed like a wall of interference. How he reached the runner, he never knew, but the fact that he had reached him seemed to give him the strength of ten men.

Twice the Princeton backs were shot at his end. Once he got the runner, and the second time he spilled the interference, leaving Turner to take the man with the ball, which he did with a jolting tackle that jarred the Princeton man's very being.

Up and down the field surged the tide of battle, while the stands under the urging of the cheer-leaders gave out on the one side or the other an almost steady roar of cheers. In spite of their volume they seemed strangely far away to the players whose energies were engaged entirely with the matter in hand.

Once the new right end was drawn in, and a Princeton back slipped around him for fifteen yards. The sharp reprimand from the captain was not necessary for he was raging at himself, savage at being tricked. A moment later he was tricked again: the back made a feint at the end, went inside him and was stopped by Turner.

"That's the place," yelled a Princeton coach, "put it there again!" It looked like a weak place indeed, and the Princeton quarter, after making his distance on the other side of the line, again shot his catapult at right end.

This time Frank went through the interference, and tackled so viciously that there were hisses from a few in the Princeton stand. He was fighting mad, crazy to hurt and to be hurt. Again and again he hurled himself blindly against the Princeton onrush only to be borne backwards.

Suddenly he realized what the matter was. The coach's words came to him: "Keep cool, play your game and keep your head working." It was like a dash of cold water, and he was immediately cool. He had a grip on himself in a moment, and he now smiled back into the mocking eyes of his opposing end where a moment before he had glared in hate. He had obtained the mastery over himself.

Again the play swung around to his end, but this time he met it coolly and deliberately, and checked it without the gain of a foot, while the Yale stand announced its approval with a mighty and spontaneous shout. Time after time the Princeton attack at the right end was met and turned back, and Saunders, who had been told to get ready to replace Armstrong, sat down again at the motion of Coach Hanley, and wrapped his blankets around his shoulders. This much Frank saw out of the corner of his eye, and a thrill of satisfaction went through him. He had learned his lesson and was making good.

It is not our intention to tell the story of Frank's baptism of fire, nor how the two evenly matched teams battled to a tie at the end of four desperately fought periods. Frank played through three of these periods, and although he played well and did all of his duty, he never had a clear chance at a forward pass. The ball was thrown either too far or not far enough on the half dozen tries at the pass, or the attempt to throw was spoiled by the eager Princeton forwards who crowded through the line. At the end of the third quarter he was taken out weak and staggering from his exertions, and Saunders went in.

But the coach's "All right, Armstrong," was music to his ears as he came over to the side-line to be immediately wrapped in a big blanket by the trainer.

That night, while the team was dressing in the Gymnasium, the coaches gave the men the benefit of some advice. "You fellows forgot most of the time," said Hanley, "that you were a team. You were playing every man for himself. You should have licked that Princeton team, and the only reason you didn't was that you were not a Yale team. We don't want brilliant individual stuff. One must help the other. If you get together before next Saturday we can beat Harvard. If you play as you did to-day, Harvard will lick you out of your boots, because she has a great team and it is together. You are just as good, but you are not together." It was straight talk, and it sank deep.

Monday was a day of rest at the field, but on Tuesday the final preparation for Harvard began. Behind locked gates under the urgings of the half a score of coaches who had hurried to New Haven, the previous practice and even the Princeton game were like child's play. Armstrong was at right end, a position which he had fairly won, but Saunders on the Second eleven fought tooth and nail to displace him. It seemed to Frank that the Second eleven coaches had a particular grudge at his end, for he was called upon to stop more than his share of attacks. But he was able to do what was expected of him, backed up as he was by the sturdy and omnipresent Turner who withstood everything with a never-failing energy.

Wednesday's practice, fiercer than the day before, if that could be, found Frank Armstrong still in possession of his place at right end, but it was with a sigh of relief that he heard the welcome "That's all," of Coach Hanley. He watched with interest the usual celebration of the Second eleven which marks the end of the year's practice.

On Thursday the 'Varsity, with substitutes, a score of coaches and heelers, took the afternoon train to the north, and were quartered at a hotel just outside of Cambridge. A brief signal practice was held in the towering Stadium on Soldiers Field Friday, where the last instructions were given to the men. It would be too much to say, and not the truth, that the night was a peaceful one for most of the Yale eleven. Turner and Armstrong were quartered in separate beds in the same room. The former slept like a log, apparently free from all thoughts of the morrow. Frank, on the other hand, tossed and turned, got up in the night and sat at the window while his companion snored contentedly. In the early hours of the morning he finally dropped into a sleep which was disturbed by dreams of the Harvard runners slipping past just beyond his reach. How he got through the morning he never knew, but he did get through somehow, and finally found himself dressed for the fray and in the big 'bus with the rest of the eleven, headed for the Stadium.

"There go the Yaleses!" sang out an urchin.

"Dey won't look so nice as dat when de Harvards get through wit' dem," shouted his companion.

Occasionally the 'bus passed Yale sympathizers, and then it got a cheer or: "Go to it, Yale, you're the boys who can do it!"

From every direction throngs of people were heading toward the great concrete structure whose huge gray bulk seemed to fill the horizon. Already thousands swarmed in its arches, and even at this hour little black specks of human beings were seen outlined on its upper heights against the sky. Progress became slower as the 'bus neared the field, and it finally took the combined efforts of a squad of police to break the crowd sufficiently to let the Yale players through to the Locker Building within the shadow of the Stadium walls.

The game was to be started at two o'clock, and at a quarter of that hour it would have been difficult to find a vacant place in all those towering tiers. Yale occupied the south and Harvard the north side of the field. The cheer-leaders were tuning up, as it were. Back and forth across the field were flung songs and cheers, and in this lull before the battle each applauded the other's efforts.

Five minutes before the hour the Harvard captain, with his red-jerseyed and red-stockinged warriors at his heels, dashed through the gate at the northwest corner of the field. A great wave of crimson seemed to sweep the Harvard stand from end to end as the thirty thousand Harvard sympathizers rose to their feet, waving flags and red bandannas. A crackling cheer like musketry rolled across the field. While the Harvard cheer-leaders called for a cheer for the team, the Yale stand sat motionless. A minute later, however, it sprang into life as Captain Baldwin led his men onto the field through the same gate at a loping run. The Yale crowd was smaller, but what a noise it did make!

After a few minutes of signal practice, the two captains with the officials met at the center of the field and tossed for choice of sides. The coin which was flipped in the air by the referee fell heads, which was the side Captain Randall of Harvard, had called, and he indicated with a sweep of his hand that he would take the west end of the field. What little wind was then blowing at his back was the only advantage he had. Both elevens quickly dropped into their places, the whistle shrilled and the game was on.

That was a game which went down in history as one of the fiercest and hardest ever played between the two old rivals. It was clean and free from bad feeling which sometimes marks close games, but intense from the first line-up to the last. Harvard, after receiving the ball on the kick-off, cut loose a smashing attack through the line, reeling off the yards with terrible, tremendous force, a force that Yale did not seem to be able to meet successfully.

Down over the white lines went the Harvard machine, plays timed to perfection and gaining wherever they struck, not much, but enough in three tries to carry them the necessary yards for a first down. A perfect roar of cheers boiled up from the Harvard side of the field while Yale seemed paralyzed. Only after the ball had been pushed well into Yale territory did her cheer-leaders begin to get something like a cheer of volume.

But Yale was learning, and before Harvard had progressed to the danger zone the advance was stopped, and Yale took the ball, an act that was approved by a mighty cheer.

Turner bored through for eight yards on the first play, and followed it up with enough to make a first down, but there the advance stopped. Porter, the Yale fullback, who was doing the punting, was hurried by the rush of the Harvard forwards, and his kick almost blocked. It traveled diagonally across the field for a bare fifteen-yards gain, and was Harvard's ball.

"Now stop 'em right here! Take it away," commanded Captain Baldwin. "You can do it!"

But Harvard was not to be stopped just then. Playing like red demons, they fought their way foot by foot into Yale's territory, and threatened the Yale goal. Turner and Armstrong were on the bottom of every heap when the play came at their side, but the best they could do was to keep the gains down. They could not entirely stop them. But the gallant Yale line rallied less than ten yards from their goal, and again checked the crimson attack. So determined were the Harvard team to make a touchdown that they scorned to try a field goal, and depended on a forward pass to make the necessary distance.

Armstrong, alert for just such a move, intercepted the ball and again it was Yale's. Yale's rushing attack was stopped short and Porter was sent back to punt.

"Block it! block it! block it!" yelled the Harvard partisans but although the red line tried desperately to do this, Porter succeeded in getting his kick off, but the ball went high, was held back by the wind which at that moment was blowing a stiff breeze, and it dropped into the Harvard quarter's hands a bare twenty yards back of his line of scrimmage. A groan went up from the Yale hosts as Harvard, for the third time, took up the march down the field.