It was maddening.

The score stood 7 to in favor of the juniors.  Miriam Nesbit had the ball now, and was trying to throw it.  She stood near the junior basket.  Eluding her guard, who was dancing about in front of her, she made a wild throw.  Whether by accident or design it was hard to tell, but the ball landed squarely in the junior basket.  A whoop went up from the gallery.  The whistle blew and the first half was over.  The score stood 9 to in favor of the enemy.  The last two points had been presented to the juniors.

Up in the gallery discussion ran rife.  The admirers of the juniors were loud in their praise of the superior ability of the team.  The junior class, who were sitting in a body at one end of the gallery, grew especially noisy, and were laughing derisively at the downfall of the sophomores.

Miss Thompson was puzzled.

“I cannot imagine what ails my sophomores,” she said to the teacher next to her.  “I understood that they were such fine players.  Yet they don’t seem to be able to hold their own.  It looks as though their defeat were inevitable, unless they do some remarkable playing during the next half.”

Mrs. Harlowe, too, was disappointed.  She wondered why Grace had boasted so much of her team.

“After all, they are little more than children,” she thought.  “Those juniors seem older to me.”

As for Grace and her team—­they were sitting in a room just off the gymnasium gloomily discussing the situation.  Tears of mortification stood in Nora’s eyes, while Grace was putting forth every effort to appear calm.  She knew that if she showed the least sign of faltering all would be lost.  Her players must feel that she still had faith in their ability to win.

“We are not beaten yet, girls,” she said, “and I believe we shall make up in the last half what we lost in the first.  Work fast, but keep your wits about you.  Don’t give the referee any chance to call a foul, we can’t spare a minute from now on.  When I give the signal for a certain play, be on the alert, and please, please don’t any of you present those juniors with any more points.  I’m not blaming you, Miriam, for I know that last throw of yours was an accident, but I could have cried when that ball went into the basket.”

Miriam’s face flushed; then realizing that all eyes were turned toward her, she said sarcastically: 

“Really, Miss Harlowe, it’s so kind of you to look at it in that light.  However, anyone with common sense would have known without being told that I never intended that ball for the juniors.”

“I am not so sure of that,” muttered Nora, who, seeing the hurt look that crept into Grace’s eyes at Miriam’s words, immediately rose in behalf of her captain.

Miriam whirled on Nora.

“What did you say?” asked Miriam angrily.