The morning of the Nordham game dawned gray and cold and cheerless. The rain still continued and water lay in pools along the drive and walks. What the field would be like in the afternoon no one cared to predict. There was talk of canceling the game, and rumors to the effect that Andy Ryan had called on Mr. Bendix, the court of final appeal in such cases, to ask him to declare the game off, were rife about the school in the morning. It was explained that the trainer was afraid of injury to the players on such a slippery field. Perhaps had there not been such a desire to obtain revenge from Nordham for last year’s defeat the contest might have been canceled. But it wasn’t. There was a conference at eleven o’clock, attended by Mr. Payson, Mr. Bendix, Captain Merriwell, Manager Davis and Andy Ryan, and during its progress the school at large held its breath in painful suspense. When the result of the conference was announced there was both relief and joy. In spite of Andy’s advice, the game was to take place, the only alteration of original plans consisting of a shortening of the playing periods from fifteen minutes to twelve. Yardley flocked to the field at two o’clock clad in raincoats and rubber hats. The attendance from outside the school was naturally small, although perhaps a hundred and fifty or two hundred townsfolk came up to pick their way across the soggy grass under bobbing umbrellas and view the game from the water-soaked seats. Nordham sent over some twenty or thirty devoted supporters, who managed to make a large amount of noise considering their number. Two First Class fellows, detailed by Gerald on request of Mr. Manager Davis, stood at the entrance and watched for the appearance of inquisitive Broadwood gentlemen. None sought admission, however, which was fortunate, since the guards would have been powerless to exclude them. Practice was cut short to-day, and after one or two dashes about the field and a few kicks of the wet ball the two teams retired to their respective sides and the captains met to decide the choice of goals. It was raining steadily, but not so hard as during the forenoon, and optimistic ones predicted that the weather would clear before the game was finished. The field was soft and slippery, and here and there held shallow pools of water. In the stand, Gerald, seated between Harry and The Duke, was retelling an old joke called to mind by the condition of the field. “You fellows may have heard it,” he said. “It’s rather a classic.” “Cut out the apologies,” begged The Duke. “They’re going to start in a minute.” “Well, once when Pennsylvania and Princeton used to play football together――――” “That must have been in the dark ages,” murmured Harry.