"Every dollar is up," said Harlow, gleefully. "We are in to win a good pile on this game if what you say is right." "What I have told you is straight." "Marline can't play?" "No." "Ott is a poor man?" "Sure." "And there is no chance that Frank Merriwell will be run in?" "Bah!" exclaimed Harris, disdainfully. "Merriwell is a dead duck at Yale. He'll never count in anything more. He is an outcast now. What do you think?--he's universally rated as a coward." "Oh, say!" exclaimed Harlow; "that's too much! You don't expect me to believe that about Frank Merriwell?" "Believe it or not, it's true." "I don't understand how it could come about, for you and I know there is not a drop of cowardly blood in Merriwell. Confound him! If there had been, some things that have happened would not have taken place." "Circumstances have conspired to put him where he is, and he'll never dig out. He has a few enemies who will take care to keep him down, now he is down." "Well, I'm glad he's not on the team. We'll make a fat thing out of this, old man." "Yes, I gave you every dollar I could raise, so you must know I am dead sure Harvard will win. If, by any fluke, Yale should happen to pull off this game I shall be busted." "Same here." "In that case, we'd have to stand in together and catch some suckers. We've done it before." "And been exposed in it by that cursed Merriwell! Oh, I'd like to get a good rap at that fellow! He has spoiled a number of good, soft things for me since we first met." "You can't hate him more than I do." "I don't know about that; but he has been a lucky devil. I'm glad he's not going to play for Yale to-day." "He couldn't win the game alone." "No, but it would be Yale's luck to win if Merriwell played. He has been a mascot for Yale in almost everything." Harris believed this, for he remembered how many times Frank Merriwell had been the instrument by which Yale had snatched victory from apparent, certain defeat. Suddenly a band struck up, and out upon the field came the Harvard eleven on the trot. What a cheer went up--what a wild roar of greeting! For the moment it seemed that the crimson was everywhere. The band hammered away, and the blood was leaping in the veins of the thousands of spectators. Harvard immediately took a bit of preliminary practice. "They are the boys to polish Yale off this year!" laughed Harlow. "It's going to be a snap for Harvard." "I believe it," grinned Harris. "We'll have money to burn after this game." Suddenly another kind of a cheer rent the air, and now the blue was waving everywhere. Onto the field came the Yale eleven at a sharp trot. Harris and Harlowe laughed and nudged each other with their elbows. "See the little lambs!" chuckled the sport. "Coming to the slaughter!" grinned Rolf. "Too bad!" "It's a shame!" "I feel for them." "I expect to feel for that money. Where's Ott?" "Why, he's right over--over there--where the dickens is Ott?" "Can't you see him?"