It was cold and dismal in New Haven late Saturday night. The railroad station loomed bleak and cavernous, offering small comfort to the band of weary and discouraged Harvard supporters, which blew on its fingers and looked longingly up the track toward Boston. The Crimson had failed to flash in triumph, and here was a group who had suffered thereby, and who had to attend Monday morning classes in the Yard. But to do this meant something that was very much missing from the faithful at that moment.

Along came Mr. Charles Hart, of the Athletic Association. He gazed at the band squatting shivering on a baggage truck, its crimson feathers drooping. "Well!" said Mr. Hart.

There was an embarrassed silence. Up spoke "Mike" Denihan, leading citizen of Soldiers Field. "Not very," declared Mr. Denihan.

Mr. Hart clucked in sympathy. Something had to be done. He disappeared into the railroad office.

Fifteen minutes later there pulled up on the siding next the faithful a titanic freight locomotive, geared to pull 110 freight cars at 40 miles an hour. It puffed mockingly at Mr. Denihan and his friends. Attached to it was one lone daycoach, at which covetous glances were cast.

Up stepped Mr. Hart. "Pile in, gentlemen," invited Mr. Hart. The gentlemen piled, and the freight pulled out toward Boston, pulling as if it were drawing 110 cars.

So a band of faithful Crimson rooters was saved by Mr. Hart and the New York. New Haven and Hartford Railroad: and Mr. Michael Denihan, of Soldiers Field, can add one more anecdote to his list.