Before Nora could answer the whistle blew.  Intermission was over and the second half was on.  The teams changed baskets and stood in readiness for work.  Once more Grace and Julia Crosby faced each other.  There was a malicious gleam in Julia’s eye and a look of determination in Grace’s.  With a spring, Grace caught the ball as it descended and threw it to Nora, who, eluding her guard, tossed it to Miriam.  With unerring aim Miriam sent the ball into the basket and the sophomores scored for the first time.

Their friends in the gallery applauded vigorously and began to take heart, but their joy was short-lived, for as the play proceeded the sophomores steadily lost what little ground they had gained.  Try as they might, they could make no headway.  Grace called for play after play, only to find that in some inexplicable way the enemy seemed to know just what she meant, and acted accordingly.

The game neared its close and the sophomores fought with the desperation of the doomed.  They knew that they could not win save by a miracle, but they resolved to die hard.  The ball was in Miriam’s hands and she made a feint at throwing it to Nora, but whirled and threw it to Grace, who, divining her intention, ran forward to receive it.  There was a rush on the part of the juniors.  Julia Crosby, crossing in front of Grace, managed slyly to thrust one foot forward.  Grace tripped and fell to the floor, twisting one leg under her.  The ball rolled on, and was caught by the enemy, who threw it to goal just as the whistle sounded for the last time.  The juniors had won.  The score stood 17 to 2 in their favor.  The scorer attempted to announce it, but her voice was lost in the noisy yells of the junior class in the gallery.

The fact that Grace Harlowe still sat on the gymnasium floor passed for a moment unnoticed.  In the final grand rush for the ball, the other players failed to see that their valiant captain still occupied the spot where she fell.  Tumbles were not infrequent, and Grace was well able to take care of herself.

Anne Pierson alone saw Julia Crosby’s foot slide out, and, scenting treachery, hastily left her seat in the gallery.  She ran as fast as she could to where Grace sat, reaching her a few seconds after the whistle blew.

“Good little Anne,” called Grace.  “You have come to my rescue even though the others have deserted me.  Perhaps you can help me up.  I tried it, but my ankle hurts every time I try to stand.”

Her face was very white, and Anne saw that she was in great pain.

By this time Grace’s team, realizing she was not with them, began looking about, and rushed over to her in a body.  David, Reddy and Hippy appeared on the scene, as did Mrs. Harlowe, accompanied by Miss Thompson.  Excitement reigned.  The boys lifted Grace to her feet; but she cried with pain and would have fallen had they not held her.

“She has sprained her ankle!” exclaimed Miss Thompson.  “How did it happen, Grace?  I did not see you fall.”