During the next four days, the captain's arm was a subject for the careful attention of the trainers, who rubbed and kneaded the strained member at every possible opportunity. Nearly every known remedy was tried, for well everyone knew that on Armstrong depended the next game--the great Commencement game--which drew back thousands of graduates. The worried coach spent most of his time with Captain Armstrong, and when he had exhausted his own knowledge of arm treatments, went to old Yale ball-players who were flocking back to give what assistance they could in the crucial game. The newspapers deprecated Yale's chances, but the college was behind its team to a man. "Armstrong has a glass arm," wrote the sporting writers in the daily prints. "Little hope for the Bull-dog; Harvard expects to clean up on Tuesday." "We may fool 'em yet," said Frank, as he threw down a paper he had been reading, "eh, Turner? This old wing feels better to-night and I'm dying to get a chance at them." "And we are with you," said Turner. "I want to get away from the memory of the fourteen to five business up at Cambridge." The great day came. Although the game was not called till three o'clock, the big wooden stands at the Field were filled an hour before that time. The spectators had gathered early to watch the antics of the returning uniformed classes of graduates, whose parade behind a score of bands is always one of the features of the day. Joyfully the long line of the parade wound around the field, the younger graduates capering to the ringing music of the bands, the older ones more sedate and garbed more soberly. Gradually the classes were ushered to their seats and half an hour before the game the grounds were cleared. Harvard had a fast and snappy practice. When Armstrong led his men on to the diamond for the Yale practice, the cheer-leaders led the packed thousands in a tremendous ovation. "They seem to be with us, anyway," said Frank, who was standing with Coach Quinton by the home plate. "You can bet everything you own, they are," returned Quinton, "and we must give them what they are looking for--a victory." "I'd give my arm to do it," said Frank. And he meant it. All the preliminaries over, there was a hush as the captains at the plate with the two umpires talked over ground rules. It was Harvard first to bat, and as the Yale team trotted to their positions in the field and the captain took up his place in the box, a roar swept the stands, while the cheer-leaders bawled through their megaphones: "Make more noise, you fellows, we can't hear you." That was a game long to be remembered. The very first of the red-stockinged batters met squarely the first ball Captain Armstrong delivered, and drove it between left and center for three bases. "Same old story," sang out the Harvard cheer-leader. "Give them a cheer; we'll make a dozen the first inning."