At about half past two o'clock a great cheer rolled simultaneously along both sides of the field, and there trotted into the lists twenty-two young specimens of this "dyspeptic, ice-water-drinking" nation. It is sometimes said that Americans are overworked and deteriorated from the physical standard of the race; but as these youths of the Western branch pulled off their sweaters and faced each other, they did not look a very degenerate brood. Harvard had the ball and formed a close "wedge," Yale deployed in open line of battle. For a moment they stood there, all crouching forward, their heads well down, their great limbs tense, all straining for the word to spring at each other. There was not a sound around the field. "Play!" called the referee, and the Harvard wedge shot forward, and crashed with a sound of grinding canvas into the mass of blue-legged bodies that rushed to meet it. For nearly three quarters of an hour the mimic battle was fought back and forth along the white-barred field. All the tactics of war were there employed; the centre was pierced, the flanks were turned, heavy columns were instantaneously massed against any weak spot. It was even, very even; but at last a long punt and a fumble gave Harvard the ball, well in the enemy's territory. A well-supported run around the right end by Jarvis, the famous flying half-back, two charges by Blake the terrible line-breaker, and a wedge bang through the centre drove the ball to Yale's five-yard line. Another gain of his length by the tall Rivers. Another. Then with their backs on their very line the Yale men rallied in a way they have. Down, no gain. Now for one good push or a drop kick! Time. The first half of the game was over and neither side had scored. "Everything is lovely," declared Hudson. "We'll have the wind with us next half. We've had the best of it so far, as it is. It's a sure thing now." That was the general feeling among the Harvard supporters, and every one was happy. To the excited spectators the interval was a grateful relief, almost a necessary one to little Gray, who was nearly beside himself. He moaned every now and then over his physical inability to carry the Crimson in the lists. After fifteen minutes' rest, the giants lined up again. The wind did seem to make a difference, for the play from the start was in Yale's ground. Jarvis the runner, who had been saved a good deal in the first half, was now used with telling effect.