It was Saturday night and the gymnasium was crowded. The Faculty was there
to a man, and with them, the honored guest of the evening, sat Mr. John
Garwood, trying hard to make out what all the fuss was about and looking
more often toward a bench at the side of the hall than toward the
struggling players. On the bench, one of several red-shirted players, sat
Kenneth. He was forbidden to enter the game, but there was nothing to
prevent his wearing his uniform once more and sitting with the substitutes.
But the fellows with him were not all subs. One was Simms, weary and
panting, nursing a twisted ankle which a moment before had put him out of
the game. And Upper House had suffered, too, for across the floor Carl
Jones was viewing the last of the contest from the inglorious vantage of
the side line. Upper and Lower were still shouting hoarsely and singing
doggedly. On the scoreboard the legend ran:
Upper House 11--Lower House 11.
No wonder every fellow's heart was in his throat! It had been a contest to
stir the most sluggish blood. In spite of the absence of Grafton and
Kenneth, Lower had played a hard, fast game, and had she made a decent per
cent of her tries at goal would have been the winner at this moment. But
Jim Marble had missed almost every goal from foul, and Collier, who had
tried his hand, had been scarcely more successful. And now the score was
tied and it seemed ages agone since the timekeepers had announced one
minute to play.
The ball hovered in the middle of the floor, passed from side to side. Then
Hurd of Upper secured it, and, with a shout to Knox, sped, dribbling, down
the side line. But a red-shirted youth sprang in front of him and the two
went to the floor together, while the ball bounded into the ready hands of
Jim Marble.
"Oh, good work, Joe!" shouted Kenneth, as Joe sprang to his feet and dived
again into the play.
Jim, taking long and desperate chances, tried for a basket from near the
center of the floor and missed by a bare six inches. A groan went up from
the supporters of the Red, while Upper House sighed its relief. Then there
was a mix-up under Upper's goal and the whistle shrilled.
"Double foul!" called the referee.
A sudden stillness fell over the hall. Not a few of the players sank to the
floor where they stood, while Knox picked up the ball and advanced to the
line. Kenneth, watching with his heart in his throat, had a vague
impression of Jim Marble bending across the rail in consultation with one
of the Faculty. Then the ball rose gently from Knox's hands, arched in its
flight and came down square on the rim of the basket. For a moment it
poised there while hearts stood still. Then it toppled gently over the side
to the floor. Knox had missed!
Lower House set up a frantic chorus of triumph. If only Marble or Collier
could succeed where Knox had failed! But neither Jim nor the left guard was
going to try, it seemed. For over at the Red's bench a lithe form was
peeling off his sweater, and in a moment the cry swept the hall:
"Garwood's going to throw! Garwood! Garwood!"
"It's all right," Jim had whispered. "I asked the doc. Do your best. If you
make it we win, Garwood!"
Kenneth, his pulses far from calm, walked out on the floor and picked up
the ball. The shouting died away and the sudden stillness seemed appalling.
He toed the black streak across the boards and measured the distance to the
basket. Then, his legs astraddle, his knees slightly bent, he swung the
ball once--twice--