locker room, calling off practice for the day. He did so with considerable profane denunciation of the elements, for the Carver game was scheduled for Saturday and the team was slow in rounding into shape.
Wednesday, however, dawned clear as a bell. Peggy had said that she could not leave the cigar counter at the Tate until four o'clock but would come directly to the field. Yes, she would wait for Harold after practice and he could walk as far as the Commons with her. Harold put on his crusted uniform and, still without altered instructions from anybody or as much as a glance from Trask, uneasily took his place on the bench. He sat there for two hours, glancing ever and again at the grandstand. He almost hoped that Peggy had been detained, that she wouldn't appear.
Out on the field, Chester Trask, temporarily released from the scrimmage, was standing beside Coach Cavendish watching the first varsity eleven striving to rush the ball twenty yards through the scrub to a touchdown. His eye swept over the field and he suddenly became aware of Harold Lamb sitting disconsolately on the bench on the opposite side of the gridiron. Actually Trask for an instant wondered who the huddled bench-warmer was. He had completely forgotten about
