NEIL IS TAKEN OUT The Tuesday before the final contest dawned raw and wet.

The elms in the yard _drip-dripped_ from every leafless twig and a fine mist covered everything with tiny beads of moisture.

The road to the field, trampled by many feet, was soft and slippery.

Sydney, almost hidden beneath rain-coat and oil-skin hat, found traveling hard work.

Ahead of him marched five hundred students, marshaled by classes, a little army of bobbing heads and flapping mackintoshes, alternately cheering and singing.