carry Planter and the other blue players about the
field. Appearing as if they had survived a disaster, they joined the
crowd of men and women, relatives and friends of the players, near the
field house. The vanquished and the substitutes had already slipped
through and out of sight. The first of the steaming Yale men appeared
and threaded a path toward the steps. Lambert, because he had been
honoured most, was the last to arrive, and at that moment out of the
multitude there came into George's vision faces that he knew, as if they
had waited to detach themselves for this spectacular advent.

He saw the most impressive one first of all, and he stood, as he had
frequently stood before her portrait, staring in a mood of wilful
obstinacy. It was only for a few moments, and she was quite some
distance away. Before he could appreciate the chance, she had withdrawn
herself, after a quick, approving tap of her brother's shoulder, among
the curious, crowding people. George had seen her face glow with a happy
pride in spite of her effort at repression; but in the second face which
he noticed there was no emotion visible at all. The hero's mother simply
nodded. Dalrymple stood between mother and daughter, smiling inanely.

Lambert forged ahead, filthy and wet. The steam, like vapour from an
overworked animal, wavered about him. The Baillys and the Alstons pushed
close to George and Goodhue, who were in Lambert's path, pressed there
and held by the anxious people.

At sight of Betty, Lambert paused and stretched out his hand. She was,
George thought, whiter than ever.

"You'll say hello even to an Eli?"

She gave her hand quickly, the colour invading her pallor. For an
instant George thought Lambert was going to draw her closer, saw his
lips twitch, heard him say:

"Don't hold it against me, Betty."

Certainly something was understood between these two, or Lambert, at
least, believed so.

Betty freed her hand and caught at George's arm.

"Look at him," she said clearly, indicating Planter. "You're going to
take care of him next fall. You're not going to let him laugh at us
again."

George managed a smile.

"I'll take care of him, Miss Alston."

Lambert's dirty face expanded.

"These are threats! And it's--George. Then we're to have a return bout
next fall. I'll look forward to it. Hello, Dick. Good-bye, Betty. Till
next fall--George."

He passed on, leaving an impression of confidence and conquest.

"Why," Bett