While the advent of the telegraph line occupied the attention of our friends in the evenings, it must not be thought that they were any the less intent on the football doings in the afternoons. The end of the season was drawing rapidly to a close and only one game—that with Porter School on the Queen's grounds—remained on the schedule to be played, with the exception of the final match with Warwick. This latter game was to be played at Warwick, which was considered a disadvantage, as the Queen's eleven seemed to fight better on home grounds. It will be remembered that the Warwick game was played at Queen's the previous year. These matches always alternated—one year at Warwick and the next at Queen's, and so on.

After Frank had won his place on the Second eleven, there was a general brace by the School eleven. Dixon, seeing his position in danger of being invaded by Frank, put forth his best efforts, and he was so clever a quarter that when he did his best he was hard to beat. Horton was delighted with the change and attributed it in a considerable degree to the dashing play of Frank Armstrong, who had been, as he expressed it, "a regular find."

Then came the Porter game. "This is our test," said Jimmy the Friday night before it was played. "If we get away with this one, there's a chance that we can pull off the Warwick game."

"A fighting chance, yes," said the clear-headed Codfish. "You may be able to hold them, but I don't see how you can score against their defense. Warwick is as good or better than last year. The only way you can beat a strong defense, under these rules that the football fathers have doped out, is to have a drop kicker."

"Well, we haven't got one, so we'll have to get off a forward pass or something tricky, and catch those big guys napping. It all depends on what we can do to-morrow."

The boys turned in early. Frank fell asleep with hopes of a chance at to-morrow's game in his head.

It was a glorious day, and every one far and near turned out to see the test of the School eleven against the strapping boys from Porter. Knowing well the erratic course that the Queen's eleven had been steering, the invaders, who came gayly decked as for a celebration, freely expressed themselves as to the size of the score. They would not consider for a moment that the score might be against them. Nearly all, excepting the most optimistic of the Queen's followers, were shaking in their shoes because a defeat to-day meant disaster a week later. A victory would hearten the team so much, that they might even triumph over the proud and confident eleven up the river.

From the moment of the first clash of the lines the Porter boys showed their superiority. They took the ball and on straight rushes carried it far down the field, only to lose it when they seemed to be sure of scoring. Red-headed Jimmy was everywhere on defense. Half a dozen times the Porter runner with the ball was through the line, but was nailed with deadly precision by this half-back. Dixon also played magnificently. He was playing to hold his place, and although Frank, sitting on the side-lines wrapped up in a blanket, saw his opportunity for a trial disappearing through the brilliant play of Chip, he could not but admire it.

Time after time the Porter School eleven carried the ball half the length of the field. Stone, their full-back, out-punted Wheeler, and their ends covered the long punts with deadly certainty. Porter played harder and harder and made ten yards of ground to one for Queen's, but they were met down around the 25-yard line with so fierce a resistance that they could go no further. Twice they made weak attempts to drop-kick a goal, but each time the trials failed. Once a Queen's end recovered the ball and carried it 70 yards down the field, where he was felled by the Porter tackle, who outran him.

This hammering game went on for three quarters, but, in the fourth quarter, Queen's seemed to gain strength. Twice they stopped the Porter rushes at midfield, and with unsuspected power carried the ball inside the 10-yard line, only to be stopped when success seemed certain. Quickly the minutes flew by. Dixon drove his men with increasing speed in spite of the fact that they were about ready to drop. They responded to the call splendidly. It was the best football they had shown the whole fall, but in spite of their best efforts Porter stood a barrier to the goal line, and the whistle blew with the game a tie, without scoring by either side.

"I was praying that they'd call you in and give you a trial, Frank," said Jimmy that night, "when we were down on their goal line. But, after a conference, Dixon thought he could take it across and Wheeler thought so, too. And they failed. It would have been an easy drop—right in front of the posts. If I had been captain I'd have tried it every time I got inside the 15-yard line, but Horton doesn't think that way."

"Wait till you get to be captain," said the Codfish, "and you'll have them kicking goals all over the field, eh, old speed?"

"Well, I'd be a little freer with them than the Captain is. But it's his team and I'm not grouching. As the fellow in the poem says:

"'Mine not to reason why,
Mine but to do or die.'"

"And you died, I notice, and you'll die some more up at Warwick next Saturday," prophesied the cold-hearted Codfish.

Very little was done on the gridiron during the week preceding the Warwick game. The players were rested after the hard struggle they had gone through with the Porter School team. There was some secret practice and several trick plays were run over. The last work-out was on Wednesday afternoon.

"Only light drill to-morrow," announced Horton, "and nothing at all on Friday."

"Do you know the signals of the First eleven?" inquired Horton of Frank when he was coming out of the shower bath that night.

"I've picked up most of them, yes, sir," said Frank.

"I thought so," said Horton, grinning, "by the way you played on defense. Here's a set of them. Get them well in your head. Perhaps we may need you to-morrow."

Frank's heart took a great leap in his breast. "'Perhaps we will need you to-morrow,'" he kept repeating to himself. "But after all it is only 'perhaps.' Well, that's better than nothing." That night Horton's "perhaps" kept him awake half an hour longer than usual, and he went to sleep finally to dream of the clash of battle in which he had a part.

Thursday was given to signal drill, short, sharp and snappy. The bleachers were well filled with boys who had come down in an organized mass to try out their new songs. As the players rolled and tumbled around on the ground, the sharp cheer rang out, and at its end was the name of a player.

"Come on, get into this, now," shouted the cheer leaders—

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

The boys raised their voices with a will. Even the second and third substitutes came in for their share, and Frank felt a strange thrill run down his spine as he heard his own name, "Armstrong," snapped out by the bleachers. That it was well down toward the end of the list and not among the important members did not particularly matter. It meant that he was a possible candidate for the team and that was enough to fill him almost to bursting with happiness. And his joy was not lessened on seeing the bulletin near the gymnasium door, pasted there by Horton, after the practice. His name was among those who were to take the train for Warwick Saturday afternoon.

It seemed to the boys that Saturday would never come, but come it did at last, a glorious day in early November. The exodus for Warwick began early. The Queen's boys went by train, by automobile, by team, and some of those given to pedestrianism even walked the five miles up the river. Every Queen's boy bore his banner or badge of blue and gold, the school colors. Some carried them modestly while others flaunted their flags to the breeze and made sure that the entire populace would know that they came from Queen's, and that they were sure of victory.

"Isn't it great," said Jimmy, as he and Frank hurried for the 12:30 train which was to take the team to Warwick, "to see this turn-out? It makes me feel as though I could play my head off when the whistle blows."

Boys who have not attended a preparatory school or college can hardly understand the intense feeling of loyalty which a body of students has for its teams. They may be good or they may be poor, but since they represent the school, if the school has any spirit in it at all, the boys are behind the teams. This intense loyalty often actually makes a team strong that would otherwise be indifferent or distinctly poor. And so it was with the Queen's School eleven that Saturday with which our story deals. The bad record of the season was forgotten for the time, and every player who wore the Blue and Gold felt himself nerved to do his best, or more than his best, because his schoolmates were with him heart and soul.

"I've a hunch that we are going to win this game," said Jimmy as the train neared Warwick on its short run.

"Of course we are," said big Wheeler, overhearing the remark. "Don't believe anything but that and we'll show them who's who, and don't you forget it."

At the little Warwick railroad station a hundred boys who had preceded the team and all those on the train gathered around the team as it alighted from the car and, with hats off, gave it a ringing cheer. Then, as the players piled headlong into the 'bus that was to carry them to the Warwick grounds, the crowd fell into line four deep and followed along, occasionally sending up a cheer to vary the School marching song. And in this martial array Queen's invaded their rival's grounds.

"Let them sing," said a Warwicker who sat in a group of boys on the Library steps as the Queen's phalanx went swinging along, proud and haughty under the banners of Blue and Gold; "they will be quiet enough after the game is over."

The Warwick crowd were confident of victory, and the remark of the boy on the steps of the Library reflected the feeling of every one in the school. And they had good reason to feel confident. The Warwick eleven was a strong one, most of whose members had played together for two years. The team had won all its games by big scores, and what served to make assurance almost certain, was an easy victory over Porter two weeks before the day Queen's had played the same team to a tie. The Warwickers would not even admit that Queen's had a chance to get within striking distance of the Warwick goal on straight offensive strength. "Of course, there's always danger of a fumble or something," said those who liked to consider themselves fair to the other fellow, "but the chances are against that."

Warwick also made a brave showing with their school colors. Flags hung from the dormitory windows, and over the door of the gymnasium was draped an enormous Warwick flag. Down on the big flagstaff by the track house another flag—Maroon with a big white "W"—floated lazily in the breeze. Boys gathered in doorways and on the walks and discussed with eagerness the coming struggle.

The game was scheduled for two o'clock and long before that hour the crowds were streaming across the playing fields in the direction of the football stands. Suddenly was heard the music of a band, and soon it swung into view from behind the Library where the Warwick procession had been formed; and after it came a long tail of boys, hands on each other's shoulders, skipping and dancing along in the peculiar zig-zag step. The crowds opened to make room for this procession, and some joined in the Warwick songs as the band thundered out the melody. But you may be sure that the Queen's boys refrained from taking part in the Warwick jollification. They did do their best, however, to make their own songs heard above the din.

Soon the crowds filed into the stands and were seated by the ushers, who were distinguished from their fellows by a big Maroon silk badge on their coat lapels. The ushers, in spite of their duties, managed to keep one eye on the field where the members of the two teams were running through the signals.

Queen's had the west and Warwick the east stand, and during the preliminaries hurled defiance at each other across the brown gridiron. Warwick, with a greater body of supporters, kept up a steady yell, varied now and then by a song. The Queen's followers, gathered compactly into two or three sections of the stand, made their presence known by their snappy school yell. The cheer leaders worked incessantly, and whenever there was any evidence of lagging, heckled the sections through their megaphones: "Come on here, this isn't a whispering match! What did you come up here for?" and such like taunts.

Suddenly a hush fell on the crowds on both sides of the field. Wheeler, captain of Queen's, and Burns of Warwick, with the referee, met at midfield. They shook hands and held a little conference. After a minute or two the referee snapped a coin into the air. The crowds could not hear what was said, but as Burns turned away and waved his hand to the north end of the field, the Warwick cheer leaders interpreted the sign as meaning, and rightly, too, that Warwick had won the toss and had taken the north end of the field, which was favored by a little breeze.

The information imparted to the Warwick stand by the megaphones, a cheer burst out spontaneously. The rattle of yelling went the length of the stand. In another instant Warwick's measured yell, beaten by the waving arms of half a dozen cheer leaders working in unison, rolled out on the crisp air as the teams trotted to their places. A moment later the whistle blew and the great game was on.