The appearance of the Bartlett eleven touched a match to all the explosives that the Bartlett rooters had stored up and a riot of deafening sound rocked the field.

The crowd easily outnumbered any ever congregated at Bartlett. Half of the eastern bleachers had been reserved for the Pennington rooters, while the section directly across was occupied by Bartlett enthusiasts. The seating capacity was greatly overtaxed. At least two thousand people hovered behind the goal posts at the ends of the field and swarms were even accommodated in roped off areas between the foot of the bleachers and the playing lines.

Both teams appeared a trifle nervous before the game commenced, undoubtedly caused by the magnitude of the crowd and the importance of winning.

McDonald, Thorpe, Preston, McCabe, and Judd, all Bartlett substitutes, swathed in extra sweaters, seated themselves by the sidelines, in an advantageous position, to watch the game.

Benz, captain, conferred with Melvin, Pennington captain. The referee tossed a coin. Melvin won the toss and chose to receive the kickoff. Benz selected the north goal for Bartlett to defend. The two teams lined up quickly. An avalanche of sound came from the spectators.

"Are you ready?" shrieked the referee to the Pennington captain.

Melvin raised his hand in the affirmative.

"Ready, Bartlett?"

But Benz was crouching, tying up a shoe lace, preparatory to kicking, and trying to overcome his nervousness. This prolonged the tenseness.

After an age, it seemed, he straightened up; the referee raised his arm; the Bartlett men leaned forward, expectantly; the whistle screeched; Benz booted the ball; and the great game was on!

It was a splendid kickoff. The ball rose, spinning like a top and with enough impetus to send it far down the field.

Knapp, Pennington quarterback, captured the pigskin on his fifteen yard line and dodged in behind his quickly formed interference. For five,—ten,—fifteen yards he ran; his advance guard toppling man after man who attempted to reach him!

The crowd was on its feet, howling like mad!

"Stop him!" shrieked the Bartlett stands.

"Go on, Pennington!" bawled the Red and Blue.

A lanky individual now loomed up in the path of the oncoming trio. It was Pole! He hurled himself straight at the knees of the interference and the men went down like ten pins.

All save Knapp. Small of stature and a veritable rabbit on his feet; his interference now gone, he depended upon his own cleverness to gain more ground. He eluded the too eager arms of Benz who missed his tackle completely and struck face downward on the sod.

The spectators were now become fairly wild with excitement. Such a brilliant run at the very outset of the game was entirely unlooked for!

"He's got a clear field!" screamed some voice above the din.

"A touchdown from kickoff!" cried a Pennington enthusiast.

Knapp, in order to escape all opponents, now skirted the edge of the gridiron. He passed within a few feet of the Bartlett substitutes who were wildly hoping that some one might down him.

Judd's quick eye saw only one man between Knapp and a touchdown. That man was Cateye!

"Get that guy, Cateye!" bellowed Judd, making a megaphone of his hands.

In that frenzied moment, above the terrific din, Cateye heard and recognized Judd's voice wafted out to him. The words seemed to give him added zeal. He raced across the field toward the speeding Knapp. The little quarterback, confronted with this new obstacle, turned in sharply as Cateye lurched through the air, in order to avoid the tackle. But Cateye had judged the distance too true and Knapp had dodged too late. There was an impact as shoulder met thigh and a crunching sound as the two rolled over and over upon the turf; then mighty cheers.

"That-a-boy, Cateye!" barked Judd, joyously, while the Bartlett stands echoed his name.

"Yea, Knapp!" thundered the Penningtonites.

Knapp's fine sixty yard run injected a world of pep into his team and restored their confidence. The Bartlett eleven, on the contrary, was badly disheartened and shaken up by the suddenness of the spectacular run.

With the ball on Bartlett's twenty-five yard line and four plays to make a touchdown the Pennington team assailed the Black and Gold line viciously.

On the first play the ball went to Gordon, the heavy full back, who plowed through the right side of Bartlett's line for eight yards.

"Wow! Nothing to it!" roared the Pennington stands.

"Hold 'em, Bartlett!" entreated the supporters of the Black and Gold.

An end run netted five more yards, placing the ball on the twelve yard line. Gordon then took the pigskin, plunging straight through the center of the line for four yards. The Bartlett eleven seemed wholly unable to cope with the swift, varied, smashing attack of the visitors. It was evident to the onlookers that Knapp's brilliant run at the start of the game, coupled with Gordon's tremendous line bucking, had completely bewildered the Bartlett team. It was the first time during the entire season that any eleven had been able to gain consistently through the line and this fact further discouraged the Black and Gold.

"Hold 'em, fellows!" begged Benz, from the backfield. "Don't let 'em get a touchdown!"

The line stiffened and shifted to meet the next attack. They were already fighting in the shadow of their goal posts. Gordon again carried the ball and the play came direct for Cateye. By exerting a great effort Cateye broke through the Pennington line and dropped the huge Gordon for a slight loss.

The Bartlett stands became a mass of color. Cateye's name was on every
Bartlett rooter's tongue.

Pennington, as Coach Phillips had said, was using Gordon, almost exclusively, from the outset of the game, as a battering ram to wear down the Bartlett line. Once the line was shot to pieces victory would be easy.

The Bartlett eleven, encouraged by Cateye's checking of the Pennington advance, regained in a measure their lost confidence and every yard thenceforth gained by the rival college demanded a royal struggle.

But Pennington was not to be denied the spoils of her rapid advance. Her dashing, smashing attack had progressed too far to be immediately and successfully blocked. Bartlett was beaten stubbornly back until the players crouched upon the very goal line with Pennington two downs to take the ball across.

The Red and Blue tried an end run but Benz tackled the man with the ball before he had gained a yard. Benz was fairly outplaying himself and sobbing like a baby.

The Bartlett stands shrieked encouragement, while from the Pennington bleachers came yells of, "Touchdown! Touchdown!"

On the last down, with less than two yards to go, Gordon ripped straight through the line and over the goal for a touchdown.

Amid a cascade of yells and wild demonstrations the Bartlett eleven lined up under their goal posts, awaiting the try for goal.

Knapp, the star Pennington quarterback, to whom much credit must go for the sudden overwhelming of Bartlett, threw himself face downward on the turf and held the ball at arms length to allow Bowen, halfback, to kick. Bowen paced a short distance back, carefully, then turned and running lightly forward, toed the ball squarely over and between the goal posts. Score, Pennington, 7; Bartlett, 0.

The Pennington rooters began to chant the score with the hopes of further disheartening the Bartlett eleven. "We want more! We want more!" volleyed Pennington.

"Rah! Bartlett, Rah! Fight 'em! Fight 'em! Fight 'em!" answered the
Bartlett stands defiantly.

There were seven minutes left of the first quarter. Pennington kicked off. Potts caught the ball and advanced it eight yards to the twenty-six yard line. It was the first time during the game that Bartlett had the ball in her possession and the Bartlett supporters were hopeful.

Neil called on Patterson, right half, for an end run, but the play barely netted a yard. Benz shot through the line for four yards. The Bartlett stands roared. Gary, left half, attempted a run around the other end but was downed with no gain. Benz dropped back and punted forty yards. The ball was Pennington's on their own twenty-nine yard line.

Using the same tactics as before and working one forward pass to advantage, Pennington began another steady march down the field. Bartlett was being completely outplayed in every department of the game. The quarter ended with the ball on Bartlett's seventeen yard line and Pennington's first down.

The teams exchanged goals and play started again. Gordon hammered his way through the line for nine yards with three tacklers hanging to him. The Bartlett defense seemed to grow weaker every minute. A trick play was good for three more yards, and with the ball on Bartlett's five yard line Knapp got away for a wide end run and a touchdown. The Pennington stands cheered madly. Why, this was no game; Bartlett was being outclassed! It had taken Pennington only three minutes to put over the second touchdown from the seventeen yard line. Bowen was forced to attempt the goal kick from quite an angle and the ball went wild. Score, Pennington, 13; Bartlett, 0.

Again Pennington kicked off. Cateye received the ball and advanced it back twenty yards in a pretty, dodging run. Neil tried vainly to enthuse the fallen spirits of his team-mates. They were not playing true to form; they were suffering the slump of the season and during the biggest game!

Benz was forced to punt again, the eleven not being able to make a first down. Gordon & Company started another triumphal march toward the coveted goal. This time the progress was easier than before. After each play several Bartlett men were seen to hobble wearily to their positions. The strain was beginning to tell. Soon the game would become a rout.

A fumble! Bartlett's ball! The stands came to life. Pennington's advance was at least momentarily checked. Neil called on Benz to carry the ball. He made three yards. Neil used him again. Benz tore off seven yards around end and Bartlett had made its first down!

Patterson and Gary, halfbacks, could gain very little on respective attempts. Neil was forced to call on Benz to make the yards. Benz was good for six. In a fake punt formation Benz tried a pass, but Norton, Pennington right end, intercepted the ball and carried it fifteen yards to the Bartlett thirty yard line before being downed. Bartlett's slight revival of form was thus ended.

There were six minutes left to play of the first half, and Pennington meant to have another touchdown. Every play was good for a few yards at least.

Cateye, who had played a wonderful game at left guard, was tiring fast. Knapp had chosen the left side of the line to direct a good share of his smashes at and Cateye had borne the brunt of the attack. Now, after each play, he was the last man to crawl upon his feet, and fall back into his position.

Pennington fought its way to the seven yard line. There were three minutes left in which to score a touchdown. Gordon took the ball, intending to drive his way through Cateye's position for a substantial gain. But Cateye, calling forth one last, great effort, broke through and tackled Gordon for a one yard loss.

The crowd gave him a mighty cheer but Cateye heard it not. He lay where he had fallen. Benz rushed up, knelt down beside him, then motioned to Neil.

"Help me get him to the sidelines, will you? He's knocked out!"

Someone rushed up with a blanket and pail of water. Cateye was carried to the sidelines. The substitutes crowded around. Judd pushed them aside.

"Cateye! Pal! Wake up! What's the matter?" Judd shook him rather roughly.

Cateye began to come to. "My knee! My knee!" he gasped.

Judd jerked off Cateye's shoe and sock. The bandaged knee was already badly swollen.

Coach Phillips came to Cateye's side. "Tough luck, old man. You played a great game. Judd, take off your sweater. You're going in Cateye's place. It's up to you. Hold 'em!"

"Me? Naw,—well," Judd hesitated, glancing at his room-mate.

"Go in, Judd, and stop that Gordon! There's two more downs and two minutes to play. Don't let 'em make a touchdown!" Cateye pleaded.

Judd still lingered, uncertain.

A strange voice was heard outside the group. "Let me in I say! That man was my former room-mate!"

"Why,—Bob Billings!" exclaimed Cateye, delighted, and forgetting his badly wrenched knee for the moment. "I didn't know you were here!"

"Just arrived a few minutes before the game started," replied the great Bob, reaching out and grabbing his open-mouthed younger brother, "Hello, Judd! What are you doing standing here? The crowd's calling for you. I supposed you'd gone out. Hurry up! Don't stop to argue. It's time for play to begin again. I'll see you at the end of the first half. Save the game, old man!"

Without a word Judd ripped off his jersey and dashed out upon the field. So Bob was here! And Cateye laid out! And,—Bartlett was being beaten! Well, he'd do his best to please Bob and Cateye, but how could he save the game? "Gosh!" thought Judd, "The game's lost already!"

Nevertheless he jumped peppily into Cateye's position. Just as his presence had inspired the second team so did his presence now cause new life to appear in the varsity.

Benz rushed up to Judd, throwing an arm about his shoulders. What did this mean? Another trick? But—no—it couldn't be——! that look in Benz's face and then—Benz was holding out his hand! Judd gripped it in a daze as the stands roared. All this action took place in two minutes time but to Judd it seemed like hours. So much had happened in those two minutes! And here Judd found himself actually playing in Cateye's position, something he had vowed that he would never do! Besides this, Benz had become his friend. Wonder of wonders!

But Judd had no more time to contemplate. The referee's whistle shrieked, and he became painfully aware that he was in the direct path of the onslaught. He braced himself; hit the opposing line low, and as a mass of legs passed over him he grabbed an armful and hung on. The roar in the stands became a rumble. Judd had stopped the great Gordon without a gain!

He staggered to his feet, a numb feeling in one hand, and Benz patting him joyfully on the back.

"Get him just once more, Rube, old man," yelled Benz, in his ear, "and it'll be our ball!"

Judd crouched in his position, his whole being concentrated on one object, Gordon. Would they use him again? Or might Pennington resort to some trick play to put the ball across?

Judd saw Knapp look at Gordon as he knelt to receive the ball; he saw the ball snapped back; saw Gordon dash forward and apparently take it from Knapp's hands, plunging into the other side of the line. All was confusion. All were mislead but Judd. He burst through his side of the line just as Gordon started forward. He saw the fake pass; saw all his team-mates lurch toward the right in a frantic effort to stop the much feared Gordon. But above all this he saw Knapp, running free, with the ball tucked under his arm!

And Knapp saw Judd, the only obstacle between him and a touchdown. Seven yards to go! Time almost up! Knapp ran straight at Judd; then as the rube dove for a tackle, he jumped clear.

Pennington gave a lusty cheer,—then a groan of dismay, for Judd had rolled quickly over and made a frantic grab at the flying feet as they passed him. His right hand came in contact with Knapp's right ankle and closed over it like a vice. Knapp fell his full length prone upon the ground. Such a cheer as went up from the Bartlett stands! Everyone was on their feet lauding Judd. And just then the whistle blew calling time for the first half.

It was a much different team that left the field after that last two minutes of play. A new spirit now prevailed. Although woefully battered, out-generaled, and outplayed, beaten by a 13 to 0 score, Judd's presence had produced the tonic which revived their spirits and restored the punch which had been sadly lacking.

Benz and Neil escorted Judd to the sidelines whispering happily in his ears.

"You stopped 'em, old fellow! You saved another touchdown! Great stuff! Just wait until next half!"

"Say!" exploded Judd, ignoring the praise, "That little sucker is a spry one, isn't he? A shoe-string more an' I'd never have caught him!"