things up the back. Garrett is talking as fast as he can, chiding, correcting, pointing out weak spots in their own and in their opponent's play, and outlining and revising the policy for the next half. Al and the doctor are everywhere. Old bandages are renewed, new ones put on, gear is readjusted. Soon the ten minutes slip away, and, with a few more tense words, they trot out for the second half, refreshed in body and strengthened in spirit, to do or die.

Stanford kicks off. The first down brings evidence that, with two fresh men in her line, the Cardinal has taken a mighty brace. California loses the ball on downs, and then, for a while, Stanford turns the tables and gives U. C. some gruelling practice on the defensive. Slowly, fighting desperately for every inch of ground, the Blue and Gold is forced back from one white line to another. Frantically the rooters exhort: "Hold them, California!" And as if in answer, although they hear no word of it all, the line takes a tremendous brace, and in quick succession piles two plays up in a heap, without a foot of gain.

Now California has the ball, and once more her offense comes into play. But she has a long journey to travel. The second half begins to wear away as the battle ebbs and flows, although nearly always in Stanford territory. Both sides are beginning to show the results of the forceful impacts, and after almost every down a man is seen lying on the ground and time is taken out, while the trainers run to and fro with bandages, sponges and water-bottles. Stanford replaces her left half and California loses her first man in the right guard, who is supported, limping, to the side lines, cursing his luck, while his substitute joyously pulls off his

sweater.

And now, although California has had the ball in her opponent's territory for almost two-thirds of the time, matters begin to look serious for her. James has just been tried for another field goal and has missed, and, as a result, the ball is again in the middle of the field, although in California's possession. It hardly seems possible that U. C. will accomplish in the last fifteen minutes of play what she has failed to do in the first twenty. Stanford is fighting savagely, desperately, as for her very life. Her line throws every pound of its superior weight into every play, with the utmost abandon. The California rooters grow hoarse from their exhortations, but abate not one whit in volume. Is their prize team, trained by Garrett, going to lose, and by one point? No, it cannot be ; and every voice swings into, "How can they beat us, beat us?" And then, with superhuman energy, "Now is the time to score !"

But to no avail. California loses on downs, and desperately the Cardinal forces her back, yard by yard. Stanford is using her fresh half for all he is worth, while his partisans on the bleachers ask why he wasn't put in at the beginning. No fancy plays are attempted, only solid line bucking. The gritty U. C. line, tortured in every limb as by the rack, holds the best it knows how. headed, it braces itself to meet each onslaught. kins backs his line up like a demon. The halves and full, tensely strung, watching the ball as best they may, chafe at their inaction. Once a Stanford half shows out around the end, but Percy pounces on him like a cat,

Dazed, light

Little Hos

The minutes, filled with agony, slip away, as, back, back, goes the ball. The Cardinal rooters are in an ecstacy of yelling.

On California's thirty-yard line she holds. A blocked kick and Burton is lying with the ball hugged tightly to his breast, seven yards farther from his goal. New life and hope spring up in the breasts of the grim eleven and their supporters. They slap one another on the back with words of encouragement. Now for a last effort!

"Line up! Line up!" automatically Hoskins slaps the center's muscular back, runs his finger-tips over his tongue and glances behind him to see that the backs are in place. A criss-cross and Hawley is around like a flash, staggering and wriggling. "Second down; one yard to gain."

"Hit 'em again, boys,-harder!"

Twice the linesmen shift their ground and the ball is but eight yards from the center. Now, on a first down, California has been thrown back. "Second down; six

yards to gain."

Hawley admonishes the bleachers to silence, so that the signals may be heard. "Line up, boys; line up, quick!" As before, the quarter's clear, young voice floats across the field :

"5-27-18." James has dropped back. Hoskins has stepped aside. "A kick! A kick!" call the Stanford players. Their full drops further back and the halves, turning, race down the field.

"A fake! A fake!"

Across to the The latter is on

But too late. quarter and back to James flashes the ball. his toes. He speeds behind Hoskins and Hawley, his interference. The opposing tackle is boxed. Hawley blocks the opposing end, who is sent sprawling out of it. And James is clear of the line. But the two Stanford halves