For the first ten minutes of that game Parkinson and Kenwood tried each other out and neither team approached a score. Kenwood had what advantage lay in a mild westerly breeze and she punted often. But if she expected fumbles or misjudgments she was disappointed, for either Stone or Warden caught unfailingly and usually took the ball back over one or two white lines before being stopped. Just at first Mr. Bates, whose football education had been sadly neglected, thought the game much too rough and predicted broken legs and worse, but before that first quarter was at an end he was inured to the ungentle behaviour of the contestants and was following the varying fortunes of the game with grim lips and flashing eyes. Parkinson made one first down and Kenwood two in the initial period, the second of the Blue’s successes coming just at the end when a back shot unexpectedly around Peters’ end and made all of seven yards before he was pulled to earth and enthusiastically sat on by most of the Parkinson team! Two attacks on Newhall and Wendell added the three more and the chain was trailed to a new position. But the Blue was still well away from the home team’s goal and shortly after the second quarter began she had to punt again. Neither team appeared to be able to gain consistently through the opposing line, while neither team had shown thus far much ability to run the ends. It looked like a punting duel all the way, with the victory depending on a “break” in the defence of one side or the other. It was a ding-dong affair for thirty minutes of playing time, and when the first half ended neither team could claim the advantage. “You wait till Dick gets in, though,” said Sumner to Mr. Bates when the field had emptied and the Silver Cornet Band was blaring forth again. “That quarter they’ve had playing may be good, but I’ll bet Dick can play all around him. He’s awfully slow, for one thing----” “Dick is?” inquired Mr. Bates, anxious to learn football lore. “No, that fellow Stone. Dick’s a streak when he gets started. Why, he can do the hundred in ten and two-fifths, sir!” “You don’t say!” murmured Mr. Bates. He wondered what the hundred was and how Dick “did” it, but he had no intention of exhibiting his ignorance any further. He was still recalling Sumner’s expression when he had innocently asked which team the little man in the grey flannel trousers--he happened to be the umpire--played on!