That game, as so frequently happens, was the best played and the prettiest to watch of the season. George wondered if Sylvia was in the crowd. There was no question about her being at New Haven next week. He wanted to save his best for that afternoon when she would be sure to see him, when he would take her brother on for another thrashing. But it wasn't in him to hold back anything, and the cheering section, where Squibs sat, demanded all he had. To win this game, it became clear after the first few plays, would take an exceptional effort. Only George's long and well-calculated kicking held down the Harvard attack. Toward the close of the first half a fumble gave Princeton the ball on Harvard's thirty-yard line, and Goodhue for the first time seriously called on George to smash the Harvard defence. With his effort some of the old zest returned. Twice he made it first down by inches. "Stick to your interference," Goodhue was begging him between each play. Then, with his interference blocked and tumbling, George yielded to his old habit, and slipped off to one side at a hazard. The enemy secondary defence had been drawing in, and there was no one near enough to stop him within those ten yards, and he went over for a touchdown, and casually kicked the goal. When, a few minutes later, he walked off the field, he experienced no elation. He realized all at once how tired he was. Like a child he wanted to go to Stringham and say: "Stringham, I don't want to play any more games to-day. I want to lie down and rest." He smiled as he dreamed of Stringham's reply. It was Stringham, really, who came to him as he sat silently and with drooping shoulders in the dressing-room. "What's wrong here? When you're hurt I want to know it." George got up. "I'm not hurt. I'm all right." Green arrived and helped Stringham poke while George submitted, wishing they'd leave him alone so he could sit down and rest. "We've got to have him next week," Stringham said, "but this game isn't won by a long shot." "What's the matter with me?" George asked. "I'll play." He heard a man near by remark: "He's got the colour of a Latin Salutatorian."