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Updated: August 5, 2024
"Steady all!" counseled the captain. "We're going to win, boys." But it did not seem so, when the first inning ended with no score for Yale. Princeton's pitcher was proving his power, and he was well supported. Man after man some of them Yale's best hitters went down before his arm. The situation looked desperate.
Yale and Martyn conferred for two hours in Yale's quarters; but only the bull-terrier who keeps watch over Yale's boot-trees knows what they said. A horse, hooded and sheeted to his ears, left Yale's stables and was taken, very unwillingly, into the Civil Lines. Yale's groom went with him. Two men broke into the Regimental Theatre and took several paint-pots and some large scenery brushes.
But he locked his joints and strained forward until somewhere behind him a whistle shrilled. Then he rolled over on his back, closed his eyes and fought for breath. Few could have missed that goal; certainly not Yale's quarter back.
Down on Yale's thirty-five-yard line Princeton was hammering at right guard for short gains, edging nearer and nearer the goal, and thousands of eyes fixed themselves expectantly on Princeton's left half back, dreading or hoping to see him fall back for a kick. On the thirty yards Yale's line braced and held. Princeton tried a run outside of left tackle and got a yard.
The runner tried for second on the first ball pitched, and Yale's catcher overthrew, although he had plenty of time to catch the man. The runner kept on to third and got it on a slide. Now Harvard rejoiced. Although he had not obtained a hit, the man had reached third on two errors, and there was every prospect of scoring. Merriwell did not seem to lose his temper or his coolness.
Coach Willoughby was back again, visiting at the home of Buster Billings' folks. He said the "lure of the leather" was too much for him, bringing back those dear old college days when he played on the Princeton eleven, and carried the ball over Yale's line for a hard-fought victory.
Congratulations, old man!" and he pumped Andy's arm. "Oh, what a night we'll have!" cried Clarence Boyle. "The wildest and stormiest ever!" added Len Scott. "Yale's night!" "Got to go easy, though!" cautioned Dunk. "Oh, fudge on you and being easy!" laughed Mortimer. "This thing has to be done good and proper. Come on, let's go out. We'll smear this old town with a mixture of red and blue."
It has leaked out that our rivals will come over strengthened by a 'ringer, no less than Yale's star pitcher, Wayne. We saw him shut Princeton out in June, in the last game of the college year, and we are not optimistic in our predictions as to what Salisbury can do with him. This appears a rather unfair procedure for Bellville to resort to. Why couldn't they come over with their regular team?
Then Dunk pulled himself together, and the Tiger's lead was cut down. Once the game was a tie Yale's chances seemed to brighten, and when she got a lead of one run in the eighth her cohorts went wild, the stand blossoming forth into a waving mass of blue.
Nor was it any consolation that the other team had not either. Several times their players had menaced Yale's goal line, and only by supreme efforts was a touchdown avoided. As it stood it was practically a defeat for Yale, and everybody, from the varsity members to the digs, were as blue as the cushions in the dormitory window seats.
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