The substitutes of both teams retired to the benches and the players who were to start the game warmed up.  Over near the east goal three Erskine warriors were trying—­alas, not very successfully!—­to kick the ball over the cross-bar; they were Devoe and Paul and Mason.  Nearer at hand Ted Foster was personally conducting a little squad around the field by short stages, and his voice, shrilly cheerful, thrilled doubting supporters of the Purple hopefully.  Robinson’s players were going through much the same antics at the other end of the gridiron, and there was a business-like air about them that caused many an Erskine watcher to scent defeat for his college.

The cheers had given place to songs, and the leader of the band faced the occupants of the north stand and swung his baton vigorously.  Presumably the band was playing, but unless you had been in its immediate vicinity you would never have known it.  Many of the popular airs of the day had been refitted with new words for the occasion.  As poetic compositions they were not remarkable, but sung with enthusiasm by several hundred sturdy voices they answered the purpose.  Robinson replied in kind, but in lesser volume, and the preliminary battle, the war of voices, went on until three persons, a youth in purple, a youth in brown, and a man in everyday attire, met in the middle of the field and watched a coin spin upward in the sunlight and fall to the ground.  Then speedily the contesting forces took their position, the lines-men and timekeeper hurried forward, and the great stands were almost stilled.

Erskine had the ball and the west goal.  Stowell poised the pigskin to his liking and drew back.  Devoe shouted a last word of caution.  The referee, a well-known football player and coach, raised his whistle.

“Are you ready, Erskine?  All ready, Robinson?”

Then the whistle shrilled, the timekeeper’s watch clicked, the ball sped away, and the game had begun.

The brown-clad skirmishers leaped forward to oppose the invaders, while the pigskin, slowly revolving, arched in long flight toward the west goal.  It struck near the ten-yard line and the wily Robinson left half let it go; but instead of rolling over the goal-line it bumped erratically against the left post and bobbed back to near the first white line.  The left half was on it then like a flash, but the Erskine forwards were almost upon him and his run was only six yards long, and it was Robinson’s ball on her ten-yard line.  The north stand was applauding vociferously this stroke of fortune.  If Erskine could get possession of the ball now she might be able to score; but her coaches, watching intently from the side-line, knew that only the veriest fluke could give the pigskin to the Purple.  And meanwhile, with hearts beating a little faster than usual, they awaited the first practical test of the “antidote.”