The door into the corridor stood open, and as she clung to the narrow
ledge, her face pressed against the window, she wondered how she was going
to get in.

"Unless I butt my head against this plate glass," she exclaimed, "I really
don't think I can make it. I can't kick in the glass, for fear of losing
my balance."

Suddenly she heard her name called.

"Grace! Grace! Where are you?"

First it was David's voice, and then Anne's, and then the two together,
echoing through the empty corridors and classrooms.

"I'm here," she answered. "Help! Help!"

Fortunately, they were passing the door at that instant and heard her
muffled cries.

"Here," she cried again, and they saw her at last, clinging desperately to
the window ledge.

"I don't dare open the window," exclaimed David, thinking aloud. "The
slightest jar might make her lose her balance. Grace," he cried, "I'll
have to break out the upper sash. Lower your head as much as possible and
close your eyes."

Another instant, and Grace was crouching in a shower of broken glass,
which fell harmlessly on her back and the top of her head. David knocked
off the jagged pieces at the lower end, and Grace climbed nimbly over the
sash.

"There's no time for explanations now," she cried. "I was mysteriously
locked in. Has the game been called?"

David looked hurriedly at his watch.

"You have just a minute and a half," he exclaimed, and the three ran madly
down the steps and into the gymnasium just as the whistle blew and the
girls took their places.

When Grace, covered with dust, a long, red scratch across one cheek,
rushed into the gymnasium, wild applause shook the walls of the building,
for the honor of the sophomore class was saved.

CHAPTER XIX

THE GREAT GAME

It was a pitched battle from the very beginning.

The junior team was in splendid trim, and they played with great finish
and judgment; but the sight of Grace, one side of whose face was tinged
with blood that had risen to the surface from the deep scratch, seemed to
spur the sophomores to the most spectacular and brilliant plays.

Only one girl lagged, and was not in her usual trim. It was Miriam Nesbit,
whose actions were dispirited and showed no enthusiasm. Her shooting was
so inaccurate that a wave of criticism spread over the audience, and the
members of her own class watched her with deep anxiety. When the first
half ended, however the sophomores were two points to the good.

"Gr