With breathless interest the two girls watched the game. They were nerved to a point of intense excitement. They saw Harvard stand like a stone wall against Yale's repeated assaults. It was a battle of gladiators. Then came Harvard's tiger-like assault upon Yale's center, and Jack Benjamin went through with the ball. The great crowd of spectators rose as one person, seething with excitement, as Benjamin flew toward Yale's line. "Hurrah!" cried the sister of the little fellow. "That is Jack--my brother Jack! He'll make a touchdown! They can't catch him--they can't stop him!" "Wait a bit!" palpitated Inza Burrage, who was clinging convulsively to Paula's arm. "Look--look there! Frank is after him! See them run! Frank is gaining!" "He can't catch Jack--my brother Jack! I know he can't do it! Jack has the start! Hurrah! Hurrah!" "He will catch him! He's gaining! See--see him again! He is getting nearer--nearer! Now--now----Oh-o-o-oh!" Frank Merriwell had flung himself at the Harvard man and pulled him down. Then the other players piled upon them. "I knew it!" cried Inza, with a hysterical laugh. "I knew he could not get away from Frank!" "Oh, the brute!" sobbed Paula--"the brute to throw my brother like that! Jack was right! Frank Merriwell will keep Harvard from winning! I hate him!" "Yes," fluttered Inza, "he will do it if it is in his power. Oh, he is a wonderful player! But he thinks more of his old college than he does of me! I'll never speak to him again!" Paula sat down and cried, while Inza did her best to comfort her friend. Soon the game was on again, as fierce as ever. Yale fought desperately, driving Harvard back a little, but it seemed that Harvard had the superior team. All the fighting was on Yale's territory. At last, as the first half drew to a close, Harvard's left half-back went around Yale's end, and the most masterly interference prevented Yale from stopping him. He crossed the line and made a touchdown. Then Harvard's full-back had time enough to kick a goal, and the first half ended with Harvard triumphant. "Har-vard! Har-vard! Harvard! Rah-rah-rah! Rah-rah-rah! Rah-rah-rah! Harvard!" It was a sense of wild rejoicing. Crimson fluttered all over the great throng. Where was the blue? "Yale isn't in the game for a minute," said some who were supposed to be experts. "The Yale fellows found they were butting against a stone wall every time they tried a rush. This is Harvard's year." Ralph Harlow was beaming with triumph. "It's going to be an easy thing for our money, Harris," he chuckled. "Yale can't do anything with Harvard to-day." "That's the way it looks," admitted Harris; "but the game is not over." "The game will run the same way till, it is over. Yale's rushers could do nothing with Harvard's line. Frank Merriwell is the only man who has distinguished himself for Yale, and he could do nothing but delay the inevitable for a short time."