“Plots, I suppose,” Dale remarked, glancing from Tempest to Fullerton. “Too bad, but they won’t do you a particle of good.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXXI ON THE FIELD. High up against a fair blue sky, studded with fleecy clouds, streamed a mammoth banner of blue bearing in its centre a great white Y—a flare of intense color visible from afar over the topmost branches of the empty elms, and a beacon toward which the stream of spectators set their steps. Derby Avenue was filled from curb to curb with a slowly moving procession of motor cars, horse-drawn vehicles of all kinds, street cars, loaded to the very steps with a laughing, chattering mob of humanity, all making their way toward the athletic field. As two o’clock approached, the throngs at the gates moved faster, swaying and pushing past the ticket takers and streaming out onto the field toward the stands already piled high with enthusiastic humanity. Under the great flag stretched a long bank of somber grays and blacks, brightened here and there by lighter feminine apparel, and everywhere was a multitude of smaller fluttering flags of blue, which looked from a little distance as if the big banner had dripped its dye upon the crowd beneath. Violets were everywhere. Great masses of them pinned upon the tailor-made coats of charming, eager girls. Smaller bunches in the buttonholes of their escorts; and their perfume wafted out over the field, filled the air with a sweet, penetrating odor which was far more like that of a day in June than one in brisk, blustering late November. Opposite, the rival tiers of crowded seats were picked out in vivid crimson, and between stretched a smooth expanse of russet-hued turf, ribbed with white lines that glared in the afternoon sun. The great band played blithely; the thousands of eager spectators talked, laughed, or shouted ceaselessly; and the cheering sections were loudly contending for vocal supremacy. Suddenly onto the field trotted a little band of men in blue sweaters with white Y’s; and quite as suddenly the Yale stands arose and the Harvard cheers were blotted out by a mighty chorus that swept from end to end of the structure and thundered impressively across the field. “Yale! Yale! Yale! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Yale! Yale! Yale!” It was repeated over and over again, and then the crimson-clad youths trotted into view and it was Harvard’s turn to make a noise. The substitutes of both teams retired to the side lines, and the players who were to start the game warmed up. The cheering on the stands gave place to songs which drowned the music of the band, until, at length, three persons, a youth in blue, a youth in crimson, and a man in everyday attire, met in the middle of the field and watched a coin spin upward in the sunlight and fall to the ground.