"And been exposed in it by that cursed Merriwell! Oh, I'd like to get a good rap at that fellow! He has spoiled a number of good, soft things for me since we first met."
"You can't hate him more than I do."
"I don't know about that; but he has been a lucky devil. I'm glad he's not going to play for Yale to-day."
"He couldn't win the game alone."
"No, but it would be Yale's luck to win if Merriwell played. He has been a mascot for Yale in almost everything."
Harris believed this, for he remembered how many times Frank Merriwell had been the instrument by which Yale had snatched victory from apparent, certain defeat.
Suddenly a band struck up, and out upon the field came the Harvard eleven on the trot. What a cheer went up—what a wild roar of greeting!
For the moment it seemed that the crimson was everywhere. The band hammered away, and the blood was leaping in the veins of the thousands of spectators.
Harvard immediately took a bit of preliminary practice.
"They are the boys to polish Yale off this year!" laughed Harlow. "It's going to be a snap for Harvard."