"DEAR FRANK: Did not receive your letter till this morning. Too late then to answer. Had left New Haven for Boston before I read it. You asked me to release you from your promise not to play football. No, I will not! You must not play! If you do, I'll never speak to you again! I know Yale will win if you play! You must not play! Hastily, "INZA." "Line up!" The game was about to begin! Frank tore the note into many pieces, and those pieces he tossed aside. His face was stern and determined. "It's for old Yale--dear old Yale!" he muttered. "She has no right to ask so much of me without giving me a reason for it. I must play--I will play!" Out to positions went the two teams. They lined up for business, and a great hush came over the mighty jam of spectators. Yale had the first kick-off, and Merriwell balanced himself for it. Pung!--away sailed the ball clean through Harvard's goal posts, causing the uninitiated to tremble, as it was an exquisite exhibition of kicking. But this kick really gave Yale no advantage, for the rule gives the ball to the opponents on such a play. Harvard's full-back sent it spinning back into the center of the field. It looked like another kick by Merriwell, but, instead of that, Yale tried Mills, the right-half, who could make only two yards against Harvard's heavy forwards. The game was on in all its fury, and the excitement was intense. Kick followed kick in quick succession, but that style of play did not seem to gain anything worth gaining for either side. Yale got the ball and tried the revolving wedge on Harvard. They could not make a big gain, for the Cambridge lads were like a stone wall. Again and again was this style of play tried, till Harvard got the ball on downs. Then came Harvard's turn to see what she could do, and the first attempt was a try at the tandem play, made famous by Pennsylvania. Yale seemed ready enough for that, and the way she cut through and broke Harvard's line showed immediately that the tandem was not likely to prove very effective. Then Harvard called on Benjamin, her right-half, and a moment later the rush line did a fine piece of work, opening Yale's center and letting the little fellow through. Benjamin had the speed of the wind. He also had the ball. Away he went with it, and there was a clear field before him. Harvard admirers roared from all over the field. The crimson flaunted everywhere. It looked like a sure touchdown for Harvard. Every Yale spectator held his breath in racking suspense. Benjamin was flying over the ground. It seemed that his feet scarcely touched the turf. Where is Yale now? What chance has she to stop the little fellow with wings on his feet? Three seconds of suspense seemed like three hours of torture. It was awful! A Yale man was after little Benjamin--was gaining! Could he stop the little fellow in time? It must be a tackle from behind, if at all, and the slightest slip would bring failure.