. It's going to be a long day for
me."

"All right, I'm agreeable," replied the senior cordially.

Until the hour of noon was rung out by the clock in the tower, Will
labored hard. The words of his tutor had been inspiring, but he could
not disguise from himself the fact, however, that he had little love for
the task. It was simply a determination not to be "downed," as Will
expressed it, that led him on and he was holding on doggedly,
resolutely, almost blindly, but still he was holding on. About three
o'clock in the afternoon the few students who were in town assembled at
the telegraph office where messages were to be received from the team at
intervals of ten minutes describing the progress of the game. One of the
seniors had been selected to read the dispatches and only a few minutes
had elapsed after the assembly had gathered before the senior appeared,
coming out of the telegraph office and waving aloft the yellow slip. A
cheer greeted his appearance but this was followed by a tense silence as
he read aloud:

"They're off. Great crowd. Winthrop line outweighed ten pounds to a man.
Holding like a stone wall."

"That's the way to talk it!" shouted the reader as he handed the
dispatch to the operator, and then began to sing one of the college
songs, in which he was speedily joined by the noisy group.

The song was hushed when again the operator appeared and handed another
slip to the leader. Glancing quickly at it the senior read aloud:

"Ball on Alden's twenty-five yard line. Great run by Thomas. Hawley
playing star game."

Hawley, Thomas, and the captain of the team, and then the team itself,
were cheered, and once more the group of students gave vent to their
feelings in a noisy song. It was all stimulating and interesting, and
Will Phelps was so keenly alive to all that was occurring, that for the
time even his disappointment in not being able to accompany the team was
forgotten.

A groan followed the reading of the next dispatch. "Alden's ball on a
fumble. Steadily forcing Winthrop line back by superior weight. Ball on
Winthrop's forty-yard line."

"That looks bad," said Will's tutor, who had now joined the assembly and
was standing beside Will Phelps. "We've a quick team, but I'm afraid of
Alden's weight. They've two or three men who ought not to be permitted
to play, anyway."

"Professionals?" inquired Will.

"Yes, or worse."

"Have we any on our team?"

"Hardly," laughed the senior. But Will