Mr. Banks kept Zo at his violin lesson later than the latter had feared he would, and it was nearly three o’clock when the boy reached the field and, not without difficulty, found a seat in the very last tier. Grudging occupants, resentful of disturbance, drew together to allow him something less than the sixteen inches to which he was supposed to be entitled. As he was wearing a thick mackinaw and must find space for his violin-case, he felt somewhat crowded. Still, being wedged in had one advantage: it made for warmth; and the top row of the stand was a chilly place that afternoon. He wished that he had had sense enough to leave his violin at Mr. Banks’s. Being accustomed to taking it with him after his lessons, he had given it no thought. Putting it between his legs was a comfortable solution, but if, in the excitement of the game, he should jump up, the case and contents would doubtless slip between the planking and fall to the ground. He finally laid it obliquely across his knees, to the evident annoyance of his right-hand neighbor, and fixed eager eyes on the contest. He witnessed Barry’s rather dramatic entrance on the scene and took whole-souled part in the two short cheers: “Rah, rah! Cartright! Rah, rah! Locke!” After that, until the half ended, he forgot everything but the game, and thrilled as only an ardent lover of football and a zealous patriot can. He almost lost his violin when the Purple-and-Gray’s left end went over for the touchdown, springing to his feet in unison with those below and beside him and shouting shrilly until his throat ached. Between halves he tried putting his hands in his pockets, but as surely as he did so some restless youth decided to pass him and so they must be taken out again to clutch the violin-case. He was glad when, having listened with impatient politeness while Hoskins sang rousingly about how “Hoskins heroes never yield,” Billy Bassett, cheer captain, lifted his purple megaphone to his mouth again and demanded: “‘Hey Diddle Diddle,’ fellows! Every one into it! Make a noise. _Come on!_” Clasping his burden to his chest, Zo stood and sang at the top of his lungs, stamping chilled feet in time to the merry strains. “Hey Diddle Diddle” was a warming song, for you clapped your hands together at the end of every second line of the rollicking chorus. A long “Broadmoor” followed, and then, quite unexpectedly, the teams were back and the real cheering started!