the Yale supporter, crashing Davies over
the head.

"He hasn't, either!" the Harvard grad shouted, with a shove which all
but upset the rival rooter. "Look at that, will you?"

At the four-yard line the Yale tackler left his feet in a frantic dive.
He struck the man with the ball just below the knees, and Broadhurst
crumpled forward, giving a tugging leap. It may have been due to the
fact that he was soaked to the skin and that the tackler's hands were
wet and chilled; at any rate, the Eli's grip slipped to one leg, and,
instead of going down, Broadhurst strained along, dragging his tackler
after him. As he reached the goal line the two other Yale men sailed
through the air and hit him. All four went down in a splashing fall.
Then every one in the stands went wild.

With the strength of a team gone delirious with joy, the Crimson
players took their positions in front of the Yale goal and prepared for
the play which would give them a try at the extra point after
touchdown. The stands rocked with tributes of noise, bestowing upon
Broadhurst one of the most deafening ovations ever accorded a gridiron
hero. He had fittingly redeemed himself. His blood-tingling
length-of-the-field run in the last minute of play had tied the score
at six to six.

Davies waited only long enough to see the water-soaked ball sail
between the uprights for the winning point. Then he clambered over the
seats and cut across the outraged gridiron in the direction of the
clubhouse, unmindful of the fact that the mud had sucked off both his
rubbers.

At the clubhouse, Carrington Davies encountered unexpected opposition
in gaining admittance. It seemed that no one had known who he was and,
what was more, no one seemed to care after being informed. Such crass
ignorance irritated Davies greatly, but he held his patience. The
disregard shown him was only due to the prevailing excitement. If any
one of them had only stopped to think!

At last Davies rushed to the door and slid past, picking a hole between
the burly door-tender and a rather uppish young substitute who C. R. D.
ardently hoped would never become a regular.

Once inside, the going was easier. Players in different stages of
dressing, and others still under the showers, glanced at him curiously
as his eyes sought out but one individual--the Harvard quarterback.

"Where's Broadhurst?" Davies asked of the Crimson man nearest him.

"Other side of the lockers," the individual