Seeking sympathy, Willard repeated the remark to Martin that evening, expecting Martin to tell him that it wasn’t his fault and that Gil Tarver was unreasonable. But Martin only shook his head as he replied cheerfully: “Yes, it was a shame, Brand. Still, I don’t believe first would have scored. Gil threw too short and you were five yards from the line.” “We-ell,” said Willard, “you think I ought to have caught it?” “What? Oh, I don’t know about that. You’ve got to be mighty quick to get your hands around a forward or else you’ll miss it. And it’s a heap easier than it looks, usually.” Willard went to sleep that night somewhat disheartened by the conclusion that Fortune had given him an opportunity to prove his ability and he had failed. Doubtless, he thought, another such opportunity would be long in coming. He lived over that disastrous attempt to catch the forward-pass and wondered whether, had he leaped an instant sooner, he would have held it; whether, in short, anything he could have done and didn’t would have insured success. He tried to comfort himself with the reiterated assertion that no one, not even Captain Myers, whose work on the receiving end of forward-passes was phenomenal, could have done any better, but he fell asleep before reiteration produced conviction and passed through a number of unpleasant dreams before he awoke again to a bright and brisk October morning. Lorimer was always an uncertain quantity when it came to the yearly gridiron contests with Alton, and, since the red-legged invaders had nosed out a victory over the Gray-and-Gold last fall, it was held to be highly desirable that a conclusive defeat be handed them on the present occasion. And there appeared to be no good reason why Alton shouldn’t win, for, while Lorimer was well coached and knew plenty of football, she had sustained two defeats so far this season and had but one victory to her credit.