plauded each other vigorously, whistled at a fright¬ ened dog that tried to cross the field and nearly lost its mind entirely when called by a thousand masters, waited breathlessly when the cheer-leaders an¬ nounced the results from other football games that had been telegraphed to the field, applauded if Har¬ vard was losing, groaned if it was n’t, sang some more, relaxed and felt consummately happy.
Sanford immediately took the offensive in the second half. Slade was consistently carrying the ball. Twice he brought it within Raleigh’s twentyfive-yard line. The first time Raleigh held firm, but the second time Slade stepped back for a dropkick. The spectators sat silent, breathless. The angle was difficult. Could he make it? Would the line hold?
Quite calmly Slade waited. The center passed the ball neatly. Slade turned it in his hands, paid not the slightest attention to the mad struggle go« ing on a few feet in front of him, dropped the ball —and kicked. The ball rose in a graceful arc and passed safely between the goal-posts.
Every one, men and women alike, the Raleigh adherents excepted, promptly turned into extraor¬ dinarily active lunatics. The women waved their banners and shrieked, or if they had no banners, they waved their arms and shrieked; the men danced up and down, yelled, pounded each other on the back, sometimes wildly embraced—many a woman
