FIGHTING MAD For the rest of that first period it was a case of seesaw, first one and then the other of the teams getting the ball, but neither being able to make any notable advance. The referee's whistle ended the period with the ball in the middle of the field. The quarter had demonstrated nothing more than that the teams were unusually well matched. "Doesn't look like a walkover for either one," remarked Rooster to Garry, while the panting warriors tried to get their breath in the brief minute of space between the first and second periods. "Righto," responded Garry. "Our boys have got their work cut out for them, if they expect to win. That red-headed Beebe is a terror. He's as good as any two of their other men." "He's there with the goods all right," admitted Nick. "But he isn't a bit better than Dittler, although I think he's a trifle heavier." "It's a mighty good scrap so far," observed Bill. "May the best team win. Provided, of course," he added with a grin, "that team is Lenox." "That goes without saying," agreed Garry. In the next quarter Wimbledon resorted to an aerial game and relied more on forward passes than mass play. It was soon evident that they had been well coached in this feature of the game, and for a time they gained ground consistently. Steadily they advanced the ball down the field until they got within striking distance of the home team's goal. Then Lenox gained possession of the ball and showed that they too could do some forward passing themselves. Wynn took the ball for a brilliant run of twenty yards about right end, very narrowly escaping being forced out of bounds. Dittler, not to be outdone, made eighteen more yards around left. Twice following this, Lenox, by hard line smashing, made their distance on downs. It was classy work, and it set the Lenox rooters to yelling vociferously in the stands. A moment later the noise became pandemonium when Benny Knapp dropped back and kicked a field goal, scoring the first three points of the game. "Here's where we get them!" yelled Bill Sherwood bringing his big hand down with a resounding slap on Garry's knee. "For the love of Pete, keep that big ham off me!" ejaculated Garry, as he rubbed the spot. "Do you want to cripple me! Yes, it does look good, but the game is young yet. Those Wimbledon guys will take a lot of beating." That Bill had been premature in his exultation was shown a few moments later when Beebe, his red head shining in the sun, intercepted a forward pass and by a superb exhibition of running carried it for forty yards across the Lenox line for a touchdown. Johnston kicked the goal and the score was 7 to 3 in favor of Wimbledon. And now the horns and cowbells set up a din that could be heard a mile away. "Tough luck!" groaned Rooster.