ysical development. Now it
did. The growth of their worry, moreover, measured the decline of their
condition. These apprehensions had a sharper meaning for George than for
his room-mate. Almost daily he saw his picture on the sporting pages of
newspapers. "Morton of Princeton, the longest kicker in the game." "The
keystone of the Princeton attack." "The man picked to lead Stringham's
hopes to victory over Harvard and Yale." And so on. Exaggeration, George
told himself, that would induce the university, the alumni, the Baillys,
Betty, and Sylvia--most of all Sylvia--to expect more than he could
reasonably give at his best.

"Don't forget you've promised to take care of Lambert Planter----"

In some form Betty repeated it every time George saw her. It irritated
him--not that it really made any difference--that Lambert Planter should
occupy her mind to that extent. No emotion as impersonal as college
spirit would account for it; and somehow it did make a difference.

George suspected the truth a few days before the Harvard game, and
persuaded Goodhue to abandon all exercise away from Green's watchful
eye; but he went on the field still listless, irritable, and stale.

That game, as so frequently happens, was the best played and the
prettiest to watch of the season. George wondered if Sylvia was in the
crowd. There was no question about her being at New Haven next week. He
wanted to save his best for that afternoon when she would be sure to see
him, when he would take her brother on for another thrashing. But it
wasn't in him to hold back anything, and the cheering section, where
Squibs sat, demanded all he had. To win this game, it became clear after
the first few plays, would take an exceptional effort. Only George's
long and well-calculated kicking held down the Harvard attack. Toward
the close of the first half a fumble gave Princeton the ball on
Harvard's thirty-yard line, and Goodhue for the first time seriously
called on George to smash the Harvard defence. With his effort some of
the old zest returned. Twice he made it first down by inches.

"Stick to your interference," Goodhue was begging him between each play.

Then, with his interference blocked and tumbling, George yielded to his
old habit, and slipped off to one side at a hazard. The enemy secondary
defence had been drawing in, and there was no one near enough to stop
him within those ten yards, and he went over for a touchdown, and
casually kicked the go