Vag glanced at his wrist, then checked himself. He had done that fifteen seconds ago, and it was still too early. He fumbled for his ticket--Still in his pocket.

A neglected Ec. text caught his eye, (Ec. 51a, 1hf, Tues., Thurs., Sat., at 10.) O well, no understanding professor would expect a red-blooded Vag to respond to the charms of Malthus on a big day like this. Besides, he probably wasn't missed. He was sure he would have added nothing to Malthus's wisdom; not quite so sure his prof. was "understanding." Enough of that, this waiting was giving him the jitters.

Let's see--he would run over his strategy once more. Use his power plays, that was it. He had always done that the season's first game.--True, little Amherst was strong this year--he was vagly afraid--. Ah, but the Crimson was stronger. Eleven men,--and more. Eleven men, and Vag. Unbeatable! He recalled with pride on thrilling fall afternoon: a crimson-clad figure with the ball, a purple and white jersey almost on him; then a long, clear yell rising out of the confusion of sound, spurring him on past the purple and white to the goal line. Vag had given that yell. He would give many more today.

--Tough schedule this year; the boys were going to need him more than ever. He would be there, too.--

A faint roar of many voices broke in on his thoughts. His watch!--Christo et Ecclesiae -- 2:10 "Where did I put those pennants--????"