Frank Armstrong at College

by Matthew M. Colton

  CHAPTER XIX.

  THE HARVARD-YALE GAME.

  Yale's defense stiffened and made her opponent's going become harder.With five yards to go for a first down, the Harvard quarter and hisright end executed a neat forward pass which put the ball on Yale'stwelve-yard line directly opposite the posts, and one smash at righttackle put it three yards nearer the goal line.

  "Touchdown! touchdown! touchdown!" begged the Harvard stand.

  "Hold 'em, hold 'em, hold 'em!" pleaded Yale, but the pleading was ofno avail, for that splendid Harvard team, working like a well-oiledpiece of machinery, drove on and over their opponents till theball lay only three yards away from the goal. A touchdown seemedinevitable.

  Captain Baldwin drew his men together in a little group and exhortedthem to such good purpose that the next charge was stopped dead inits tracks. Again the lines faced each other, again came the crashof body meeting body. The Harvard back with the ball tucked underhis arm shot off to the left, slipped inside his own tackle and wasclear of the first line of defense. But as he straightened up fromhis running crouching position, Turner met him with a bull-like rush,picked him clear off his feet and threw him with such violence thatthe ball flew from his grasp and bounced crazily along the ground inthe direction of the goal. Man after man took a diving shot at it asit rolled until the turf was covered with sprawling figures. Finallythe ball disappeared beneath a mass of bodies which the refereeslowly dug apart and found--Frank Armstrong wrapped around the ballin a loving embrace!

  "Yale's ball," was the silent announcement of the scoreboard, butnever was an announcement before or since greeted with such a yell.

  From that moment the tide of battle turned. Porter got off a long,low twisting punt which caught the Harvard backfield man napping.He made a desperate effort to reach it, but although he got hishands on the ball he could not hold it, and was swept away by a blueavalanche. When the smoke cleared away, Captain Baldwin was lying onthe ball on Harvard's forty-yard line. Before the teams could lineup again, the whistle blew to end the quarter and the teams changedends of the field.

  Three minutes later the game was on again, this time with Yale theaggressor and Harvard on the defensive. Conditions of the firstquarter were reversed and now it was Yale, the team fighting likeone man, who was pushing her opponents steadily down the field. Heldat the thirty-yard line with three yards to go for a first down,the Yale quarter sent a pretty forward pass to Armstrong who made abeautiful catch and was not downed till he was run out of bounds atthe fifteen-yard line. Pandemonium reigned among the Yale hosts, andthe cheer-leaders tried vainly to get a unison cheer. The crowd wouldnot look but kept their eyes glued on the play.

  Now it was Yale's turn to call for a touchdown, and the tieredthousands did it right lustily, but unfortunately, for their hopes, abad pass on the next play lost five yards and Turner was stopped onthe next attempt.

  "Armstrong back!" cried the quarter.

  Frank left his place at end and took up his position fifteen yardsback of the line of scrimmage, measuring carefully the distance tothe goal posts, thirty-five yards away, while the crowd waited inbreathless silence. The lines crouched tense and ready. The ballshot back from Biddle on a long pass to Frank but it came so lowthat he had almost to pick it from the ground. Quick as a flash hestraightened up, dropped the ball to the ground, and drove his toeagainst it as it rose again. Away it spun on its course, while theeyes of forty thousand people strained after its flight. But luck wasagainst Yale that day. The ball, traveling straight and true, had notbeen given quite enough power. It struck the cross-bar, bounced highin the air and fell back into the playing field where a Harvard backpounced upon it. Harvard punted on the kick-out over forty-five yardsand after several exchanges without result, the half ended and thetired players tramped slowly off to the Locker House to be told bythe coaches why they had not done their work just right.

  Fifteen minutes later the game was on again, but not with its firstfierceness. No human beings could continue the pace set in that firsthalf, and the play settled into a punting duel between Porter and hisopponent, with neither team able to gain much by straight rushing.Both tried forward passes but with a few exceptions they failedfor one reason or another. The quarter passed without either teamthreatening the other's goal, and predictions were beginning to bemade that barring accidents the game would be a tie.

  Five minutes after the fourth period began, a fumbled punt by theYale quarter and a recovery by an alert Harvard end shifted thebattle with jarring suddenness into Yale territory, with Yale on thedefensive. Again the Harvard machine began to work with its firstsmoothness and down, down they drove the ball in spite of a desperatedefense.

  Held at the ten-yard line, the Harvard quarter, who in the earlyseason had been heralded as a great drop-kicker but who had shownnothing of his ability in late games, dropped back ten or twelveyards behind his line and put the ball between the posts withneatness and dispatch. When the tumult, which the field goal hadbrought to pass in the Harvard stands, quieted down again Yale setout to win back the points lost. But it seemed like a hopeless task,for Harvard, with victory in sight met every effort, and stopped it.

  Time was flying, and many of the Harvard people, feeling assured ofHarvard's victory, were filing out of the stands. Yale supportersstayed on, hoping against hope, for only five minutes were left toplay.

  Suddenly the Yale quarter changed his tactics. Catching the Harvardbacks in a favorable position for the play, he snapped a forwardpass to Armstrong who caught it and made the middle of the fieldon a dodging run, where he was brought down from behind. The gainbrought hope back to drooping Yale spirits, and a cheer rattledacross the field. Immediately on the heels of this successful pass,which drew out the Harvard defense, he sent Turner into the line andadded another eight yards. The tide of Harvard departure was suddenlychecked by this hostile demonstration, and seeing that the defensedid not close up, the heady little quarter tried Turner again withsuch effect that it was a first down.

  The Yale stands were cheering like mad, at this unlooked-for burst ofspeed when the team was supposed to be beaten. The captain himself,with Turner clearing the way, lunged forward five yards and addedtwo more a moment later. Again the Harvard defense crept in and theYale quarter, seeing his opportunity, drove another forward passto Armstrong who caught it cleanly and was off like the wind. Hesidestepped the tackle by the opposing end, ran obliquely toward theside-line, stopped and let the rush of tacklers pass him, slippedout of what seemed an impossible position, and with a clear field,with the exception of one man, cut straight for the goal line withfriend and foe thundering behind. Straight at the tackler, who waitedwith outstretched arms, he ran. The muscles, which had been cryingfor rest a moment before, were now like steel. Now he was withintwo steps of the Harvard back. He appeared to be running straightto certain disaster, but as the Harvard tackler lunged forward,Frank swung his body to one side, brought his forearm down with allhis force on the outstretched arm nearest him, and was past. Themomentary check, however, brought a fleet Harvard end up to him, who,unwilling to take a chance at the Yale man's flying legs, sprangfull upon his back. The force carried Frank off his feet, staggeringheadlong. Even with the burden on his back he managed to fallhead-first toward the goal line, where he was instantly pinned to theground by two tacklers with such force that he lay stunned.

  He required the services of the trainer with sponge and water bottlebefore the play could be resumed. The ball lay exactly ten yards fromthe goal and in the face of the known defensive strength of Harvard,it seemed an impossible task to put it over from there.

  Captain Baldwin took the ball two yards on the first try and then thered-headed Turner, like a maddened bull, drove through for four yardsin a whirling mass of red and blue-legged players. Again Turner wascalled upon and when the pile untangled, he had laid the ball withintwo yards of the coveted white line which to cross meant gloriousvictory.

  Captain Baldwin drew his men back for a conference while
the standsstopped their cheering long enough to speculate whether he wouldattempt a goal from the field or risk defeat on an attempt to carrythe ball across for a touchdown. Doubts were soon set at rest for theYale team sprang back into regular formation and crouched for thesignal.

  You might have heard a pin drop in that vast crowd, so still theywere as the two lines crouched, with swaying arms and tense bodies.Snappily came the signal, sounding high, clear and shrill in thatamazing quiet, followed by the crash of meeting lines. Turner withhis head down between his mighty shoulders, drove like a catapultinto the struggling mass on the heels of his captain. There was amoment of squirming and grinding, then the whole mass fell in a sortof pyramid which refused to untangle itself even at the orders of thereferee, and he was obliged to pull and dig to get at the bottom. Andwhat he found at the bottom was Turner, bruised and bleeding, butjoyfully happy with the ball hugged to his breast and across the goalline by four inches!

  It was of no account that the kick-out (for the touchdown had beenmade well toward the corner of the field) was bungled. Yale hadscored a touchdown and the lead. Two minutes afterward the whistleended the game, and the wildest sort of celebration began. Everymember of the Yale team was seized, protesting, and carried by thehalf-crazed students in a whirling march around the field. Hats werethrown over the goal posts by the hundreds, the owners entirelyindifferent as to whether they ever got their headgear back again.Many students went back to New Haven that night minus their hats, butlittle did it matter as Yale had won a glorious battle in the faceof what seemed certain defeat. And the names of Turner and Armstrongwere on every tongue.

  That night Turner was elected captain and Frank cast his vote for hisold friend although he himself had been nominated as a candidate.

  CHAPTER XX.

  HOW ALL THINGS CAME OUT AT LAST.

  When the spring of Junior year came around, Frank Armstrong enrolledhimself in the baseball squad. The rest of nearly a year hadapparently completely cured his arm, and he became at once one ofthe leading candidates for pitcher. Coach Quinton had engaged theservices of a professional pitcher from one of the big leagues forthe early practice, and from this man Frank learned much about theart of pitching. Quinton was careful, however, not to work him incold weather, fearing a return of the trouble in his pitching arm.The result of this careful handling was that he rounded into form inmid-season, and was the mainstay of the nine in the box. Turner wasthe receiving end of the battery, and together they became the terrorof opposing nines.

  At the end of a season which was only partly successful, with avictory from Princeton and a defeat by Harvard, the latter caused byYale's inability to hit the ball with men on bases, Frank Armstrongwas unanimously elected captain for Senior year.

  "I think the way you two fellows are hogging the Ys and captainciesaround here is disgraceful," complained the Codfish one night."Armstrong ought to be ashamed. Turner is bad enough with footballand baseball, but Armstrong is nothing short of a Y trust, with threedifferent kinds of them. Why aren't you modest like I am?"

  Frank laughed.

  "Some are born Ys," paraphrased the Codfish, "some achieve Ys andsome have Ys thrust upon them."

  "You ought to be put out for that," said Frank. "But I say, how wouldyou like to score for us next year?"

  "To cover up your errors, eh?"

  "No, just to keep you quiet."

  "In that case, I'm on, but you need look for no favors in the scoringfrom me. I'm an impartial gink. No friends when I'm on the job. Do Iget a southern trip?"

  "Sure, you do. But you must keep away from hired automobiles."

  "Forget it," said the Codfish, who didn't like to be reminded of theNorfolk experience.

  Frank and Jimmy spent their summer together at Seawall, and renewedold acquaintances. Many hours the two boys spent together going overplans for their teams, while with swimming and rowing they keptthemselves in the pink of physical condition.

  "My ambition is to win both the Princeton and Harvard series," Franksaid one evening as they sat on the veranda of the Armstrong cottage,their eyes wandering over the Bay with its twinkling lights. "Andthat's the reason I'm going to ask you to let me out of football workthis fall."

  "I don't like it at all, Frank," returned the football captain. "Ineed you. You've had the experience and I, too, have ambitions."

  "Yes, but look at that bunch of Freshman material from lastyear's Freshman eleven. It would make a whole 'Varsity team initself--Squires, Thompson, Williams, Weatherly and the rest. GreatScott, I wouldn't be in it with that bunch. You know you don't needme. I've got a lot of material to whip into shape, and with both ofus out of the nine, Quinton wouldn't be pleased. But I'll tell youwhat I'll do. I'll go out and work with my own team, and if you haveto have me, I'll go over and take my medicine. But if you don't needme, then I'll keep on with my own work."

  That was the arrangement the captains made between themselves, andalthough it was something of a sacrifice, Captain Turner, fortunatelywell supplied with end material, went through his season with flyingcolors, ending with two glorious victories over Yale's dearest foes,and writing his name, in the doing of it, large on Yale's page offootball history.

  When the spring of Senior year rolled around, it found Frank makingprogress with the team he hoped would be called a championship nine.The Easter trip was an unqualified success, with only one defeatrecorded, and that by the Norfolk Leaguers. All the college gameswere won handily, and the nine returned to New Haven with a prestigefor clever all-around play.

  Through the season of preliminary home games, the nine acquitteditself well. Besides himself, Captain Armstrong had two pitchers, aman named Read and of only ordinary ability, and another, Whittaker,a big, raw-boned westerner, who was a tower of strength in the box.On the latter Frank depended as his substitute in the championshipseries with Princeton and Harvard, for the games, owing to acombination of circumstances, ran so closely together that no one mancould possibly pitch them all.

  Four days before the first championship game, evidence was handed tothe captain which made him doubt the amateur standing of Whittaker.The testimony was that Whittaker had played professional ball in awestern town. The captain and coach called the pitcher over to theformer's room for an explanation. The westerner admitted at once thathe had pitched ball for money for three seasons before coming toYale, but since he had used the money to defray his expenses it wasnot plain to him that he was not eligible.

  "I'm mighty sorry," said Frank, "but you can't pitch any more forYale. In any interpretation of the rules you are a professional, andnot eligible for an amateur nine."

  "Yes, but no one knows it at Princeton or Harvard, do they?"

  "True, but that makes no difference. I say again, 'I'm mighty sorrybut you can't pitch for Yale,'" and while he said it, his heart sankfor he well knew that Read would never be able to stem the tide of achampionship match, and besides Read there was no one but himself. Tomake matters worse he had recently felt a twinge in his pitching armwhen delivering certain curves. It might be a recurrence of the oldtrouble!

  "That about settles us," said Frank after Whittaker had taken hisdeparture, a sentiment which was echoed by the college men when itbecame known that Whittaker was ineligible.

  "We'll pitch Read in the first Princeton game and take a chance," wasQuinton's advice. "It will be the second game that's the teaser."

  Fortune favored Captain Armstrong, for Princeton very kindly playedaway off-form, and allowed Yale to get such a lead in the early partof the game that even though Read began to weaken toward the endand was hit hard, Yale kept her lead without difficulty. CaptainArmstrong played in right field, and was ready to go in at a moment'snotice, but fortunately there was no need for it. Read, the secondstring man, had come through with credit, but the Princeton battershad given sufficient evidence in the last inning or two what wouldbe likely to happen to him if he faced them again.

  "It seems to be up to you, Captain," said Quinton, "to clean this up
at Princeton next Saturday. If you do, our chances are better forthe Harvard series, for there will be a little time for rest. If youdon't win, then there has to be a tie in New York, and that runs usright on top of the first Harvard game in Cambridge."

  "I've been thinking it over," said Frank, "and you're dead right.That game at Princeton must be taken, and I'm going to take it if Ican. You put that down in the book."

  The college, well knowing the state of the pitching staff, but withgreat confidence in the hard-hitting and fast-fielding team and itscaptain, backed it loyally, and sent a thousand men to Princeton tocheer.

  The game was an exciting one from start to finish, with a great dealof hitting on both sides. Captain Armstrong, who was in the box,pitched wonderful ball throughout, and kept hits well scattered. Butit was noticed that he used very little but a straight ball, hiseffectiveness being due to a continual change of pace which baffledthe Princeton batters. Now and then in a critical moment, he putover a curve, but curves were the exception.

  Coach Quinton watching narrowly from the bench, knew the significanceof the captain's action. It was the old trouble.

  Every man played his position like a veteran that day, and in spiteof the strange ground and the boundless enthusiasm of the Princetonthousands back for Commencement celebration, Frank, before the sunwent down, had accomplished half, at least, of his dearest ambition,a double championship for Yale, by beating Princeton with a margin oftwo runs.

  The night before the team left for Cambridge to play the first gameof the Harvard series, there was a long conference in the captain'sroom as to the best way of disposing of Yale's forces.

  "I want to pitch Read in that first game," said Frank. "The chancesare against us there anyway, and it would be better, I think, to letmy arm rest for the second game in New Haven."

  "You might start the game," suggested Coach Quinton, "or be ready tojump in if Read shows signs of blowing up, but it will depend on howyou feel that day."

  "I know how I'll feel," Frank replied, "and I know how this old wingof mine feels now. I know that if I pitch in Cambridge, that's theend of me. I can't throw a ball hard enough now to break a pane ofglass, and I'll be lucky to be able to stay in the game at all."

  Quinton tilted back in the chair and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  "Well, then, Read it will be for the game on Thursday, and he'll haveto go through it, win or lose," he announced. "You will play in rightfield and lob them in if they come in your direction."

  "I'd be glad to sit on the bench if you think Barrows could comethrough with a hit or two. He's a better fielder than I am. I wantthe strongest nine we can get in there on Thursday," said Frank.

  "Not on your life," said Quinton with determination. "With one armyou are better than Barrows with three. He can't hit anything."

  And so it was settled that the captain should play in the field andthat Read should go into the box. It was the best thing to do underthe circumstances.

  For three innings, Read held the Harvard batters hitless, and hopebegan to grow in the team and in the hearts of the team's supportersthat he would last to the end. Turner's home run drive with a man onbase put Yale in the lead with two runs, in the second inning. But inthe fourth, Read, in trying to get a ball over the inside corner ofthe plate, hit a batter, and in the endeavor to retrieve his errorby catching the man napping off first base, threw wild to the firstbaseman. The result was that before the ball was recovered the runnerwas perched, grinning, on third base.

  The double error unsteadied Read, who in his endeavor to strike outthe next two batters who were both good waiters, passed them both.The bases were filled with none out. Then came Harvard's hard-hittingcatcher with a three-base hit which drove in three runs. That endedRead's efficiency. In the same inning he was hit for a single and twodoubles in succession. The net result of this slaughter, coupled witha base on balls and two infield errors, gave Harvard six runs beforethe side was retired.

  Yale added a run in the fifth, but Harvard, now hitting like demons,and with Read at their mercy, slammed the ball for three more runs.Yale continued to play with dogged determination against overpoweringodds, striving to hold down the score as low as it might be. Thefielders worked faithfully, but Read was now being hit at will andmany of the balls went safely.

  "Let me go in and try to stop this," Frank suggested, as he came tothe bench in the eighth inning.

  "No use now," said Quinton. "It's Harvard's day and the game is gone.Stay where you are and we'll take this back again next Tuesday."

  In the eighth and ninth, Read steadied down, but then it was toolate, in spite of a dogged up-hill fight by Yale. The final scorestood 14 to 5.

  Read had no appetite that night at the training table.

  "Never mind it, old fellow," said Frank, laying his hand on Read'sshoulder. "That happens to the best of them once in a while; forgetit; we'll get them next Tuesday. They had all the breaks of luck,anyway. It was their day."

  "Yes, they had me; I was the best man on they had; I'm disgusted withmyself," and the big pitcher hung his head.

  "Forget it," said Frank, and nothing more was said; but in spite ofthe assumed cheerfulness it was a quiet lot of ball-players who tookthe train for New Haven.

  During the next four days, the captain's arm was a subject forthe careful attention of the trainers, who rubbed and kneaded thestrained member at every possible opportunity. Nearly every knownremedy was tried, for well everyone knew that on Armstrong dependedthe next game--the great Commencement game--which drew back thousandsof graduates. The worried coach spent most of his time with CaptainArmstrong, and when he had exhausted his own knowledge of armtreatments, went to old Yale ball-players who were flocking back togive what assistance they could in the crucial game. The newspapersdeprecated Yale's chances, but the college was behind its team to aman.

  "Armstrong has a glass arm," wrote the sporting writers in the dailyprints. "Little hope for the Bull-dog; Harvard expects to clean up onTuesday."

  "We may fool 'em yet," said Frank, as he threw down a paper he hadbeen reading, "eh, Turner? This old wing feels better to-night andI'm dying to get a chance at them."

  "And we are with you," said Turner. "I want to get away from thememory of the fourteen to five business up at Cambridge."

  The great day came. Although the game was not called till threeo'clock, the big wooden stands at the Field were filled an hourbefore that time. The spectators had gathered early to watch theantics of the returning uniformed classes of graduates, whose paradebehind a score of bands is always one of the features of the day.

  Joyfully the long line of the parade wound around the field, theyounger graduates capering to the ringing music of the bands, theolder ones more sedate and garbed more soberly. Gradually the classeswere ushered to their seats and half an hour before the game thegrounds were cleared.

  Harvard had a fast and snappy practice. When Armstrong led his menon to the diamond for the Yale practice, the cheer-leaders led thepacked thousands in a tremendous ovation.

  "They seem to be with us, anyway," said Frank, who was standing withCoach Quinton by the home plate.

  "You can bet everything you own, they are," returned Quinton, "and wemust give them what they are looking for--a victory."

  "I'd give my arm to do it," said Frank. And he meant it.

  All the preliminaries over, there was a hush as the captains at theplate with the two umpires talked over ground rules. It was Harvardfirst to bat, and as the Yale team trotted to their positions in thefield and the captain took up his place in the box, a roar swept thestands, while the cheer-leaders bawled through their megaphones:"Make more noise, you fellows, we can't hear you."

  That was a game long to be remembered. The very first of thered-stockinged batters met squarely the first ball Captain Armstrongdelivered, and drove it between left and center for three bases.

  "Same old story," sang out the Harvard cheer-leader. "Give them acheer; we'll make a dozen the first inning."


  But he was mistaken. The next two batters, the strongest of the team,fell before Frank's shoots, and the third put up a foul fly whichTurner captured close to the stand. This gave the Yale men a chanceto let loose some enthusiasm.

  In Yale's half of the inning, a single and an error put two men onbases with one out. But the necessary hits were not forthcoming, andalthough the men reached third and second, the side was retiredbefore a runner crossed the plate.

  Nip and tuck, the teams played for five innings with no runs scoredon either side. Armstrong was pitching brilliant ball. No one inthe stands and but few on the team itself, knew the price he waspaying. Slow and fast he mixed them up, with an occasional curvewhich sent twinges of pain from finger tips to shoulder. In tightplaces, he steadied his team and was always the Captain, inspiringand resourceful.

  Coach Quinton well knew what Frank was going through. "Can you stickit out?" he said, when the game was more than half over.

  "I don't know. I'm pitching and praying at the same time," was theanswer.

  The break came in the sixth, and it was in Harvard's favor. With oneout, Kingston, the big Harvard first baseman, hit a liner to thepitcher's box, which Frank partly blocked with his gloved hand. Theball bounded to the left and fell dead twenty feet behind him, andbefore the second baseman, who had come in with all possible speed,could field it, Kingston had crossed first base. The next man upsingled over second. With two on, Captain Armstrong tightened upand struck out the following batter, while the stands roared theirapproval; but the next man hit a low liner to left field, whichscored Kingston. Frank was pitching now slowly and deliberately. Hisarm was numb, but somehow he got over the third strike on the lastman and saved more runs.

  Yale fought hard to win the run back and got a man to third, but astinging liner to short-stop was perfectly handled and the side wasout. Nothing happened in the eighth for either side, and Harvardbegan the ninth, one run to the good, steady and confident.

  Armstrong was pitching now on nerve alone. His arm, subjected toa hard strain through the preceding eight innings, was what thenewspapers had called "glass," but the brain that directed it wascool and calculating. Fortunately for him, the first man fouled outto the third baseman on the second ball pitched, but the secondbatter caught one of the Yale pitcher's slow lobs and made a safehit. The third bunted down the third base line and was also safe.It was now or never, and gathering up his fast waning forces, Frankstruck out the next man, while the shooting pains in his arm broughtthe cold sweat out on his forehead.

  Confidently the last Harvard batter faced him, swinging his bat.Frank tried a curve which went outside the plate. A foul followed,and then a strike. Twice he threw high to tease the batter, and thenwith all the vigor he had left, he snapped over a straight ball,close to the knees. The batter swiped desperately at it.

  "You're out," came the sharp tones of the umpire; and as the batterthrew his bat wickedly towards the bench, the Yale stands rose _enmasse_ and yelled their approval.

  "We've got to win it now," commanded Captain Armstrong at the bench."It's our last chance. I can't pitch another ball."

  At that command the team galvanized into action. The first man upbunted the ball of the hitherto invincible pitcher down the firstbase line, and was safe. Then came the reliable Turner, gritting histeeth and pawing the ground at the plate. Twice he let the ball passon strikes, and then the Harvard man pitched one to his liking--aswift, straight ball at about the shoulder. Turner met it with allthe force of his vigorous young body, well towards the end of thebat, full and square. The ball started low, like a well-hit golf ballfrom the tee, rising as it traveled. Out and up it went, while therunner on first, after one look, scudded for home.

  Just what became of that ball, no one ever knew. It was never found.Some say it struck an automobile on the far side of the outfieldfence, and some even say it continued its flight on down to theriver. But it did not matter. It was a clean home-run, Turnerfollowing his galloping teammate more leisurely, trotting across theplate with the winning run.

  Down from the stands poured the thousands. They dashed on the fieldand swept up Captain Armstrong and his gallant warriors. Then whenthe first transports of joy were over, the classes broke into thezigzag step, arms on shoulders, to the crash of a score of bands. Andno one thought the outburst extravagant, for Yale had won.

  Four days later, after almost superhuman efforts to improve CaptainArmstrong's arm, Yale again met Harvard on neutral grounds and againwon, thus clinching the championship.

  Thus was Frank Armstrong's hope of a double championship realized.His name is still pointed to by admiring aspirants for pitchinghonors in the old college, and his skill and pluck are part of thetraditions of baseball.

  There is little left to tell of our story. The day after CaptainArmstrong's great baseball victory at New Haven he joined in theimposing exercises of Commencement day. With others of the Seniorclass, he marched in solemn academic procession through the historicCampus and city common, and later took his degree from the hands ofthe President of the college on the broad platform of Woolsey Hall,crowded with black-robed dignitaries.

  Undergraduate life was a thing of the past, and as our threefriends walked slowly back to their room to begin packing fortheir departure, there was little joy in their bearing. Even theirrepressible Codfish was temporarily subdued.

  "Well, was it worth it, eh, Frank?" said Turner as he began throwingthings into his trunk.

  "Was it worth it? Why, Jimmy, it is worth half a man's life to behere four years."

  "My sentiments, too," broke in the Codfish.

  "And mine," said a deep voice at the door. It was David Powers, oneof the big forces in the undergraduate world, who had won his way toprominence in literary work while his friends were climbing athleticheights.

  "Let's pledge ourselves, then, to old Yale," said Frank, and the fourboys grasped hands.

  "We may never meet like this again, fellows, but let us not forgetthat wonderful old line----

  "'For God, for country and for Yale.'"

  THE END.

  * * * * *

  Transcriber's Notes:

  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

  pg. 112, "de-demands" => "demands" (demands a Junior) pg. 166, "campanionway" => "companionway" (in the companionway) pg. 243, "Charlotteville" => "Charlottesville" (Charlottesville, Va.)