JOY AND SORROW Meanwhile down on the football field an anxious was in progress. Captain Blake and the manager of the team walked up and down together, talking earnestly. From their clouded faces it was easy to see how great their worry was. The players were grouped together uneasily, and the other students stood about, exchanging a word now and then, but for the most part silent. Gloom was on every face, desperation in every eye.
 
“There come Reeves and Sexton,” some one remarked, at last. “Wonder where they’ve been? Hullo, who’s that with them? By Jove, fellows, it’s Remington! He’s going to play, after all!”
 
A sudden galvanic ran through the group. They watched Remington as he walked up to Blake, and strained their ears to catch his words.
 
“Captain Blake,” he said, “I’m ready to take Banker’s place—that is, if you want me.”
 
For an instant offended pride held Blake back. Then it melted away in a rush of surprise and joy. Even from where they stood, they could see his face light up.
 
“Want you, old man!” he said, and held out his hand. “I should say we do want you!”
 
One of the boys had his cap off and was waving it over his head.
 
“Now, fellows, three cheers for Remington!” he cried. “Are you ready? Hip—hip—”
 
There was a sudden rush of tears to Tommy’s eyes as that cheer floated to him across the field. How sweet it sounded with his name at the end! But Blake had no time for sentiment.
 
“Line up, men,” he called. “Hurry up. We’ve got some hard work ahead.”
 
His face lighted up with satisfaction as he saw the way the boys sprang into their places. It was the first time for days they had shown such enthusiasm. In a moment came the signal, and the scrimmage began. Tommy, recalling every bit of football he had ever learned, put his whole soul into the game. He was going to do his best to deserve that cheer. Blake gave them a long, hard practice, but when it was over his face was more cheerful than it had been for many days.
 
“We’ll be all right, I think,” he remarked to the manager. “I think our line can hold ’em now without much trouble. And the boys have got their old spirit back—did you notice?” The manager nodded. “Still, don’t be too sure,” Blake added, with a captain’s characteristic caution, “and don’t repeat that to any of the team. I want to keep them working.”
 
Keep them working he did; and how Tommy enjoyed it! What a reception he got at table! He was again admitted to the freemasonry of fellowship which forms so precious a part of school and college life. His heart grew warm from those of others, his life grew bright and more complete. He went to his books with clearer brain and keener . He was no longer afraid of falling behind. And the old life of New River valley seemed farther away than ever.
 
His attitude toward the old life is worth a moment’s attention. As the weeks passed he had found the work of writing letters to his father and mother increasingly difficult. How could he hope to make them understand his joys and sorrows, his hopes and ambitions, in this new life which was so far beyond their horizon? If he had not known that his letters would be read by Mr. Bayliss and Miss Andrews he would have broken down altogether in the effort at letter-writing. The task was the more unwelcome because it recalled to him the squalid conditions of the old life—the grimy house, the beds, the dirty clothing, the ill-cooked food. He wondered how any one could ever stand it—how he had stood it and as much as he had. He was never ashamed of his parents, though he never of them to his classmates; it was only the home that shamed him, and he resolved to rescue the family from it and plant them in cleaner soil.
 
A week is not a long time when it comes to whipping a football team into shape for a great game, and that one passed all too quickly for Blake. reached him of the perfect condition of the Princeton eleven—of their great team work and perfect interference. He gloomily watched his own men at practice on that last day, and while he told himself he had done the best possible with them, he fancied he could detect a hundred weaknesses, and was anything but confident of the result. Still, they played good ball, he had a strong line, his backs were swift and game—well, Lawrenceville would have no reason to be ashamed of them. And just as he had hitherto hidden any satisfaction he may have felt, now, like a good captain, he his doubts and a certainty of success he did not feel.
 
At noon of the great day came the Princeton team, accompanied by nearly the whole class—resplendent in orange and black, now they were away from the campus, where such decoration was forbidden, and where, on their return, the would call them sternly to account for their of the college colors. They were seemingly quite confident of victory, and poured into the field with great halloo. Their team began at once a little preliminary practice, displaying a verve and that sent a chill to more than one Lawrenceville heart. But Captain Blake’s team got a greeting, just the same, when it came running out upon the field, and for a time cheer followed cheer, until it seemed that they must split their throats. But the throats of school-boys and college men seem to be made of some unsplittable material, and in this case—as in all similar ones—there was no damage done.
 
Then came an instant’s breathless silence as the two captains waited for the to toss up a penny.
 
“Heads!” called Blake, as the coin in the air.
 
The referee stooped and looked at it.
 
“All right,” he said. “Heads it is. Choose your goal.”
 
Blake chose the north goal with the wind at his back, while Lawrenceville cheered again at this first piece of good luck.
 
“Take your places, men,” called the referee, and the players peeled off their sweaters and out into the field, rejoicing that the hour was come. “Are you ready, Princeton?”
 
“All ready, sir.”
 
“Are you ready, Lawrenceville?”
 
“All ready,” answered Blake.
 
The referee waited an instant, then placed his whistle to his lips and blew a blast. There was a swift rush, and the ball was whirling through the air. The game was on.
 
What pen has ever adequately described a football game, with its multitudinous features, its ever-changing tactics, its advances and retreats, its thousand and one individual plays? Certainly it shall not be attempted here.
 
It was evident after a few minutes of play that the teams were more evenly matched than Blake had dared to hope and that the score would be a close one. Blake’s face cleared as he realized that his opponents were not so terrible as they had been pictured.
 
“Steady, fellows, steady,” he panted, in an between two rushes. “Don’t you that ball, Reeves. Watch your man there, Remington.”
 
Indeed, Tommy found he had his hands full watching his man. Some exaggerated story of his prowess must have got abroad, for the Princeton captain had placed the biggest and strongest man on his team against him. He was certainly bigger and heavier than Tommy, and in the first ............