“And have you noticed, Miss Nevins,” Dorothy Blyden ventured, “what a pretty contrast the Gray Bees make?” The Gray Bees were the Breslins, of course, and good little Dorothy felt obliged to see that something nice be said about them. “A pretty gym,” the scribe condescended to note. “My, how prettily the colors are blended! I suppose every class in both schools is represented in those flags and pennants?” “Yes, we sent ours over,” confessed Constance. “We knew we would have a big audience! Here they come. Now for the cheering squad!” The formalities of cheers inspired the teams to such activity as only a call to arms might be hoped to accomplish. Every girl glowed with interest and enthusiasm as they lined up, tossing up the ball, getting acquainted with it, as they usually did before a game, and making use of the same opportunity to get acquainted with the personnel of the teams. Each girl made double use of every moment, until the whistle blew. As the game started, interest compelled the closest attention. The first half occupying twenty minutes of time, was played off without anything more startling than a couple of disastrous fumbles being made by each side. Every one hated to see the ball thus “abused,” such skill as was demanded by the promised excellence of both teams seemed to indicate the very cleanest, cleverest play. “They are just warming up,” Constance told Miss Nevins adroitly. It would never do to have fumbles reported in the _Bugle_. “Oh, yes. All the more exciting when they get warmed up,” came the encouraging reply, following a “note” scribbled on the reporter’s pad. The second half was entered upon with renewed enthusiasm. Spectators leaned forward in their places, and very little conversation broke the spell of eager watching. “Watch Judith!” Miss Cooper of Wellington remarked to a Breslin fan. “You mean the standing center?” “Yes; can’t she throw?” “But I am interested in the jumping center. She can do all kinds of things.” “I am wondering why she does not do anything in particular,” came the whisper. “She is one of our stars—Miss Allen.” “Oh, of course. I know Jane. And don’t you see what she is doing? She is putting out the very finest line of team play I have ever witnessed. You just watch.” At the moment on the floor Jane was passing that ball with such skill, it never seemed to remain in her own hands long enough for any sort of play. All she did was pass it on. That was perfect team play, but it made very little impression on the spectators. The game was now tied. Then the ball flew outside the lines. Breslin’s jumping center recovered it and glanced over the situation for the fraction of a second. Her side center was too well guarded to send it to her; with a skilful toss, she aimed for the forward, who grabbed it. “Now for the basket!” whispered the hopeful Breslins.