"It's settled," said the voice of Paul Pierson. "Yale will not be in the game for a minute. What can a team do without a first-class full-back?" "Isn't there a chance that Marline's ankle will be all right in time for the game?" asked another of the group. "Not a chance," positively asserted Pierson. "The doctor says he'll not step on it for three days, at least. It is a bad sprain." "Such beastly luck!" growled Randy Robinson. "Now if Merriwell----" "Don't speak of that fellow," exclaimed two or three. "He is the only hope for Yale," declared Pierson. "Ott isn't in it for a minute. Frank Merriwell must be appealed to for the honor of old Yale." "Who'll appeal to him?" "I will, if they'll give me authority. I know he will play when he understands the situation." Merriwell drew in his head and closed the window. His face was pale. Up and down the floor he walked. "For the honor of old Yale!" he muttered. Then he suddenly cried: "For the honor of old Yale I will do anything!" Then came a knock on his door. CHAPTER XXXIV. A SENSATION ON THE FIELD. The day of the great football game between Harvard and Yale had arrived. The hour approached. Jarvis Field was ready for the great struggle. The white marks of the gridiron were regularly and beautifully made. The sun shone down from a clear sky. There was no breeze, but the air was crisp, for all of the sunshine. At either side the stands were filled; hundreds upon hundreds were standing; hundreds upon hundreds were coming. A better day for the game could not have been ordered, and spectators were turning out in force. Harvard students were there in a body. They flaunted the crimson and sung their songs of glee. Their faces were radiant, and they were confident of victory. Yale had sent her representatives by hundreds. They wore the blue, they waved the blue, they cheered for the blue. Everywhere the blue and the crimson could be seen. Everybody was partisan; everybody had a favorite. Back of the dark mass of human beings, beyond the limit of the field, were the trees and the great buildings with their many windows, upon which the sunshine glinted coldly. Policemen kept back the standing mass of spectators, or those in the rear would have pressed those in advance forward upon the field. A few of those in the rear had obtained boxes or stools, upon which they were standing in order to look over the heads of those before them. A wagon was covered with spectators; they were standing on the spokes of the wheels. The excitement and the eager anticipation was most intense. It betrayed itself on every face. Not far from the point where the mass of Yale blue was thickest two lads were talking. One wore the blue, the other wore the crimson. The first was Sport Harris, and the other was Rolf Harlow, who had been forced to leave Harvard after being exposed as a crooked gambler.