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It was the end of the year, the final game and the deciding one. The stands, which started far beyond third base and continued around behind first, were filled with a gaily-hued throng, every member of which claimed allegiance to Crimson or Blue. Fully eight thousand persons were awaiting with fast-beating hearts the outcome of this last inning. The June sun shone hotly down, and the little breeze which came across the green field from the direction of the glinting river did little to mitigate the intolerable heat. Score-cards waved in front of red, perspiring faces, straw hats did like duty, and pocket-handkerchiefs were tucked inside wilting collars.

Half-way up the cheering section sat a little group of freshmen, hot and excited, hoarse and heroic. At every fresh demand from the cheerleader they strained their tired lungs to new excesses of sound. Now, panting and laughing, they fell against each other in simulated exhaustion.

“I wish a thunder-storm would come along,” said one of the group, weakly.