So Barry had stepped forward, nearly to the edge of the plateau, and punted, and the old ball had shot away, first up across the tops of the nearer trees and then down and down, to crash at last through the branches far below. Barry had never expected to see that ball again, but when, shortly after ten, they were going “down off,” as the mountain folks said, the Major ranged aside from the trail for a few moments and came back with the veteran pigskin under his arm! Time had sped fast from the moment the train rattled into the Wessex station. Excitement and confusion had reigned. Speeding through the village, they had raised an approving shout wherever a patriotic――and canny――tradesman had hung the purple-and-gray. Already alien hues were to be seen, too, for forerunners of the invading army from Fairmount were straggling about the streets, displaying dark-blue arm-bands adorned with a golden H. Barry had not cared much for luncheon. He told himself that was because he had eaten so heartily barely more than four hours before. Perhaps it was. Perhaps, too, the fact that he was just a mite frightened and more than a mite nervous had something to do with it. In the gymnasium they had dressed in a leisurely manner, they and the players who had not made the trip to the cabin, and then had gathered in a corner of the locker-room and listened to Mr. Graham and Mr. Mears and Captain Buckley, and, last of all, and more intently, to the Major. The Major hadn’t said much; his remarks had occupied less than five minutes, perhaps; but what he had said was still fresh in Barry’s memory. They were not to reflect on what Hoskins had done that fall, said the Major. They were not to compare records, nor heed the “bunk” the papers printed. What had happened was past. What concerned them was only what was going to happen. “You’ve got to play hard, you’ve got to _fight_!” the coach concluded. “If you do what I know you can do, you’ll win. You’re playing on your own field; you’ve got the whole school right behind you; you’ve got the plays you need. And――by glory!――I think you’ve got the spirit! _Have you?_” Barry could still hear the sudden, high-pitched shout that had followed, could still feel the thrill of the moment. They had trotted out a minute later, exalted, eager for the test. And now they were meeting it. It was hard to believe that the big moment of the season was here, that within the next hour and a half the decision would be reached; the decision that would say whether all the hard work and hard knocks, all the planning and strategies of the past two months had won or failed. Only now did Barry realize how intensely he had been hoping for success, was still hoping, and would continue to hope until, in the first shadows of twilight, the last whistle should blow. The thought of defeat was accompanied by a sudden nausea, a painful cold sinking of the heart. He had never known before how much a victory could mean!