From the powerful toe of Mitchell, the right guard on the Warwick eleven, the ball, which he had carefully set at the center of the field, went flying directly between the goal posts. It was a wonderful kick, and a great yell rose from the Warwick sympathizers, who believed that Warwick had scored so soon.

"What are they shouting about?" said the Codfish, contemptuously. "They'd better read the rule book. It isn't a score."

"It went between the posts, fair and square," said David.

"Oh, but you can't score a goal from a kick-off," said Frank. "The ball will have to come back,—there, you see the referee is bringing it back to the center of the field. Mr. Mitchell will have to do it over again."

"You're wrong again," said the Codfish. "It's a touchback, and Queen's brings it out to the 25-yard line."

It was now Queen's time to cheer, and the Warwick crowd, which had jumped excitedly to its feet, sat down, the points they supposed they had made having suddenly been taken away from them, as they thought.

"It simply makes me sick the way some of the people who attend football games show their ignorance of the first principles of the game. They couldn't tell an off-side play from a woolly dog. Wow! there she goes," as the ball rose from Queen's kick-out and carried on a long, slicing drive away down towards the side of the field. But Warwick punted on first down and sent it once more into Queen's goal.

"That's going to be a hard one to get back," said the Wee One. "It doesn't give our fellows much chance to dodge, it dropped so close to the side lines. Hillard's got it, Hillard's got it!"

"Good boy, Hillard!" shouted every one, for that individual, by twisting and squirming, had carried it from Queen's 10-yard line diagonally across the field to the 25-yard line, where he was stopped from behind when a clear field was almost in sight. It was a pretty run, and brought the ball out of danger for a little while.

There was great excitement in both stands as the two teams lined up for the scrimmage. Frank found himself holding onto the seat desperately as the lines crouched, and his jaw was chattering. He could see out of the corner of his eye the tense look on the faces of the other fellows.

"Crash!" went the lines. There was a quick pass from Chip to Dutton, and the latter went into the line head first in what ought to have been a hole but wasn't, for the tackle didn't make it for him, and the result was that he got no further than his tackle's heels, and was there piled under a heap.

"Second down, ten yards to gain," shouted the referee.

"Nothing doing," cried Gleason. "They're as solid as a rock. I wonder if Chip will try it again before kicking."

They had not long to wait, for in another instant Hillard was off for a run at left, and with the ball securely tucked under his arm. Hillard ran behind a good interference which kept him from turning in, but when 20 yards had been covered in a straight run across the field, he left his interference, and took his chance on an open space which had just offered. The quick change of direction bothered him, he slipped and fell, rolled head over heels for a yard or two, and was pinned down to the earth by the big Warwick halfback.

"Didn't make it, did he?"

"Guess not; they're going to measure." The linesmen ran out with their chain while the two teams gathered to watch the proceedings. Then the men with the chain straightened up, and ran back to the sidelines again while Queen's prepared for a scrimmage, and the Warwick defence backfield scampered backwards as hard as they could go.

"Queen's ball and they are going to kick. Only a little to gain, but they don't dare take the chance. Good judgment, Mr. Dixon," said Frank.

"We'd put him in a mad-house if he did anything else, particularly with those big farmers. Twenty-five-yard line's too near your own roost to monkey with fate," growled Gleason.

Wheeler got off a rattling good kick which carried to the middle of the field, travelled high and dropped straight. The Warwick back was deceived. He expected it to go farther than it did and was not under it when it came down. There was a great mix-up, and when the dust cleared away Captain Harding was found on the ball. Queen's ball on the enemy's territory! How Queen's did yell! Warwick's red and black flags were as quiet as death now that the blue and gold waved jubilantly.

"Well, if they do that every now and then we may get one over on them. Come on now and get into this, Queen's," shouted the Wee One. He was all excitement, now that there seemed to be a chance, and one listening to him would think he was running the eleven from his position on the stand. Frank was scarcely less excited, but he kept control of his tongue.

Dutton slammed into centre for three yards, and then in the same place made more than enough for a first down. Again Chip drove him at center, but this time the Warwick backs came a little closer up and smothered Dutton when his head went through the line.

"No gain that time, was there?" queried Frank.

"No, the chump might have seen those backs coming in a bit if he'd used his eyes. Wonder if he thought they were going to keep on leaving the door for him there at centre? What's up, I wonder?" he added, for the Queen's team had gathered around their captain, with their heads together. "Some trick play they're going to pull off. They'd better stick to the good old bucking since it's going well."

But the critics upon the bleachers were deceived,—it was not a trick play then, at any rate, for the next play Chip sent against the enemy was a delayed pass with Hillard taking the ball. He had a big hole, and went for it fast, but somehow, without any one being near him, he managed to drop the ball. It struck the ground in plain view of every one, but, providentially for him, bounced up into his hands, and on he went without the slightest check. The delay in making the pass had unsettled the Warwickians, who expected something entirely different, and before they could recover Hillard had gone fifteen yards. The Warwick quarter, who was the only player between Hillard and a touchdown, threw him hard. Queen's yells broke out afresh, and now the Warwick cheering section began to get busy, calling out in unison:

"Hold them, hold them, hold them!"

"Gee whiz! if Hillard doesn't stop those circus stunts," said the Wee One, "you might as well send for the ambulance right away. I'll die of heart failure. Did you ever see such luck that he recovered it?"

"They ought to put tacks to his fingers, and see if they couldn't get him to hold the ball that way," grumbled Gleason.

"A basket would be better for him."

"No, it wouldn't, he'd lose the basket."

The ball now lay about Warwick's 35-yard line, and so far Queen's had all the best of the battle, but it must be admitted that Queen's also had had all the luck. But by good luck and some skill the eleven had made good progress, and it really began to appear as if they could hold the big fellows from up the river. The hope in the Queen's stand was doomed to quick disappointment, for on the next play Dutton made a scant yard just outside of tackle, and Boston Wheeler could do no better than another yard through the weak centre. It was third down and yards still to go, so Dixon signalled a drop kick.

"It's all off now," groaned the Codfish, "we haven't a drop kicker on the whole squad. More's the pity."

"Well, let's all pray that he gets it over even if he kicks it with his knee. They're getting ready. Steady now. Oh, Lord,—hurray, hurray, it's over!"

The ball came straight and fast, and although the Warwick players seemed to be surging all around and over him, Boston Wheeler somehow got it away, a most slovenly kick, but the ball rose out of the ring of grasping arms, and went in a wobbling fashion in the direction of the goal, struck on the cross-bar and jumped over.

The Queen's cheering section was making the place echo with its yell:

"Rah, rah, rah, Queen's! Rah, rah, rah, Queen's!"

"Well, that helps some," said Frank. "Three points are not to be sneered at, and they came pretty easy, too."

"Oh, my, but what luck!" laughed the Codfish, who had been pounding every one on the back.

"It will probably make those farmers come back harder than ever, and it's early in the game, so don't get too gay yet awhile. They haven't been at it five minutes yet."

The Wee One was right. The score, so unexpected for both sides, drove the big red and black team to desperation, and after the next kick-off, when the ball came into their possession near midfield, they went at Queen's like wild men, and tore their line to pieces. Wherever their backs hit they made gaping holes, and carried the ball five yards at a jump. Queen's fought with great determination, and as the enemy ploughed along they found it harder going as they neared the Queen's goal line. Most of the advance was made on Hillard's side of the line, where the Warwick quarter found gains could be made the easiest. He was not slow to take advantage of the opportunity.

Finally the ball lay on the Queen's ten-yard line. Warwick was confident, and crouched for the trial, but something went wrong with the signals, and there was a loss of a yard. Big Henderson, the right half of the Warwick team, who had a reputation for being able to bore through anything short of a stone wall, was called upon, and smashed through the Queen's left side and made four of the necessary yards before he was pulled down by main force. It was third down and several yards to the goal line.

"Will they try to carry it, do you think?" David asked.

"Guess they don't know themselves," answered the Codfish, "they're talking it over. If I were running the team I'd slam into the line again, although it ought to be an easy drop kick for Channing."

"They'll try to carry it, of course," cut in the Wee One; "see, they're getting ready; Henderson's going to take the ball, bet you a horse and cart."

He was right. Henderson did take the ball. He dove head first into the hole that was offered for him, and tried to sidestep Dutton, who was coming at him like a bull. He could not avoid the tackle, however. Dutton knocked the pins clean from under him, and he came down on his elbow with so great a shock that the ball flew from his arms, and bounded away toward the goal line. Half a dozen forms dived for it, but Harding, being fortunately near at the moment, reached it first and hugged it to his breast.

It was a narrow escape, for when the two teams lined up a moment later the ball was placed on the ground only two feet away from the Queen's goal, but it was Queen's ball. The Queen's sympathizers breathed easier for a while.

Boston Wheeler had to go far behind his own line to kick, and Channing, who was playing back now for Warwick, received the ball from Wheeler's punt on the Queen's 25-yard line. He made no gain, as the two ends were on him almost as soon as the ball touched his fingers.

Now Warwick began all over again, harder than ever. It was two yards here, five in another place, and in almost as short a time as it takes to tell it, the ball was back in dangerous territory. In spite of every effort that Queen's could put forth, the big fullback, Channing, tore through the last yards, with Henderson at his back, and fell across the goal line just outside of the post. And now it was the turn of the red and black flags to wave, and the cheers which rent the air had something of jubilance in them, because Warwick had been able to cross the line, while Queen's could only score by drop kicks, and, moreover, Warwick was two points in the lead, but only that, for the goal from touchdown failed. Her sympathizers had good reason to cheer.

"There's no doubt about it, Warwick is stronger than we are, and only more luck like we had at the beginning and then some more luck, will save us," said the Wee One gloomily.

For the remainder of the period the battle raged up and down the field, Warwick always the aggressor. Lack of concerted action was the chief fault of Queen's, and the captain did not seem to be able to pull his men together.

When the whistle blew to end the period, the team walked off to the gymnasium to be freshened up by their handlers. The score stood 3 to 5 against Queen's.

"Like Files on Parade, in Kipling's 'Danny Deever,' 'I'm dreadin' wot I got to watch' this next period," said the Wee One. "Danny Deever" was his favorite verse and he was fond of quoting it.

"Will Jimmy go in this second period, do you think?" David inquired.

"I don't know, but I hope so. I hope he gets a chance, and certainly Hillard hasn't distinguished himself to-day."

But when the teams came out for the second period, Hillard and Dutton were still the backs. Ends of the field having been changed again, Warwick had the wind, which was now breezing up considerably.

From the minute the whistle blew Warwick became the aggressor and Queen's was constantly on the defensive. Once or twice Queen's had the ball and attempted to carry it, but there was no unity in the play, and they were obliged to give it up with a punt. But somehow they managed to stave off the bigger team, helped along considerably by the latter's blunders and fumbles. The third period went in much the same way and play had been going on for five minutes of the last quarter when Warwick began to get things running to suit them. Then they began an irresistible advance. Twice Channing got around Harding's end for a pretty run. The Queen's captain seemed to be dazed. When he began to go to pieces, his team followed him.

Warwick had advanced to the Queen's 15-yard line and on the third down, having two yards to go, prepared for a drop kick. But the preparation was only a fake, for on a quick pass, Channing, seeing his opportunity, made a long, sweeping end run, cleared an outlying end, threw off Chip, raced behind the goal, and touched the ball down.

Of course, there was a great jubilation, for the score was now 10 to 3, and when the goal was kicked a few minutes later, still another point was added.

As the team trudged back up the field to take their positions for the next kick-off, Hillard was seen walking wearily towards the sidelines.

"There's your friend the Turner, my old wifie, going in," observed the Codfish. "Now things will be different. Eh, what?"

"Too late, I'm afraid. Jimmy's good, but he can't play the whole game." But Jimmy came pretty near to playing the whole game, as Warwick found out. Wherever they shot their backs toward the line the Freshman was there to meet the charge. He tackled everywhere, and when he got his arms around a Warwick leg there was no further advance just then. It was wonderful to see that red shock of hair flying from point to point, defending the weak places. Warwick had penetrated Queen's territory half a dozen times, only to be held up when they thought they were about to score, and principally by Jimmy's wonderful defensive work.

Finally, after one of these charges down the field, it was Queen's ball on downs on her own 20-yard line. Time was passing rapidly, and there seemed very little hope of any more scoring. Warwick was pretty tired, and Queen's was so badly disorganized that they couldn't make anything go. In desperation Chip sent Dutton against the line, but he was slammed back, and Jimmy, without any one to help him, suffered the same fate. Now he tried Jimmy at the Warwick right end.

A new player had just gone in there, and Chip figured that it might be good policy to shoot a play at him before he got his bearings. And it was good judgment. Jimmy got away like a flash, Dutton acted as interference for a few steps, but he was too logy, and Jimmy cut away from his interference, bearing well out across the field. The faster players of Warwick eleven followed him out, and the slower ones, believing he would be run out of bounds, did not follow very hard. Consequently, a considerable gap was left in the line of defensive.

Quick as a flash Jimmy dashed into the gap, dodging and twisting as arms reached for him, but he was through. Between him and the goal was only the Warwick quarter away down the field. Seeing Jimmy headed for him, the quarter came up to meet him, confident that he would stop him. Jimmy changed his direction a little, and bore off for the sideline, so as to draw the quarter in that direction. His trick was successful, for the quarter edged over to that side, expecting to run him out of bounds. Then when the wide, unprotected field was upon Jimmy, he swung to the left again, sidestepping the waiting arms neatly.

Behind him thundered the whole of the Warwick eleven, and he imagined he could feel their hot breaths on his neck, and their hands on his body. But he threw his last ounce of energy into the business in hand, and ran on, holding onto that ball like grim death. Now he was only two chalk lines away, now one; a heavy body struck him, knocking him off his legs, but he struck the ground like a rubber ball, and rolled over and over across the goal line with that precious ball hugged tightly to his breast. It was a touchdown.

Pandemonium reigned. Never had such a run been seen on Queen's field, and it had been accomplished by a Freshman.

"Turner, Turner!" yelled the crowd, and they kept it up while the goal was being kicked. A few minutes after the next kick-off, the whistle blew ending the contest, and although Queen's had lost, the crowd swept down from the stand and carried the embarrassed Jimmy, the cause of all the racket, around and around the gridiron on their shoulders. It was a great afternoon for Freshman Turner, and the sting of defeat was forgotten by the whole school in the performance of one of its younger members.