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highlight of the semester. As both teams
were undefeated that season, little else was discussed once the midterms were
over, and for the jocks, long before midterms began.
    Fletcher
found himself caught up in the excitement, and in his weekly letter to his
mother named every member of the team, although he realized that she wouldn’t
have a clue who any of them were.
    The
game was due to be played on the last Saturday in October and once the final
whistle had been blown, all boarders would have the rest of the weekend off,
plus an extra day should they win.
    On
the Monday before the match, Fletcher’s class sat their first midterms, hut not before the principal had declared at morning
assembly that, “Life consists of a series of tests and examinations, which is
why we take them every term at Hotchkiss.”
    On
Tuesday evening Fletcher phoned his mother to tell her he thought he’d done
well.
    On
Wednesday he told Jimmy he wasn’t so sure.
    By
Thursday, he’d looked up everything he hadn’t included, and wondered if he had
even achieved a pass grade.
    On
Friday morning, class rankings were posted on the school notice board and the
preps were headed by the name of Fletcher Davenport. He immediately ran to the
nearest phone and rang his mother. Ruth couldn’t hide her delight when she
learned her son’s news, but didn’t tell him that she wasn’t surprised. “You
must celebrate,” she said. Fletcher would have done so, but felt he couldn’t
when he saw who had come bottom of the class.
    At
the full school assembly on Saturday morning, prayers were offered by the
chaplain “for our undefeated football team, who played only for the glory of
our Lord.” Our Lord was then vouchsafed the name of every player and asked if
his Holy Spirit might be bestowed on each and every one of them. The principal
was obviously in no doubt which team God would be supporting on Saturday
afternoon.
    At
Hotchkiss, everything was decided on seniority, even a boy’s place in the
bleachers.
    During
their first term, preps were relegated to the far end of the field so both boys
sat in the right-hand corner of the stand every other Saturday, and watched
their heroes extend the season’s unbeaten run, a record they realized Tail also
enjoyed.
    As
the Tail game fell on a homecoming weekend, Jimmy’s parents invited Fletcher to
join them for a tailgate picnic before the kickoff.
    Fletcher
didn’t tell any of the other boys in preps, because he felt it would only make
them jealous. It was bad enough being top of the class, without being invited
to watch the Tail game with an old boy who had seats on the center line.
    “What’s
your dad like?” asked Jimmy, after lights-out the night before the game.
    “He’s
great,” said Fletcher, “but I should warn you that he’s a Tail man, and a
Republican. And how about your dad? I’ve never met a
senator before.”
    “He’s
a politician to his fingertips, or at least that’s how the press describe him,” said Jimmy. “Not that I’m sure what it
means.”
    On
the morning of the game no one was able to concentrate during chemistry,
despite Mr. Bailey’s enthusiasm for testing the effects of acid on zinc, not
least because Jimmy had turned the gas off at the main, so Mr. Bailey couldn’t
even get the Bunsen burners lit.
    At
twelve o’clock a bell rang, releasing 380 screaming boys to charge out into the
courtyard.
    They
resembled nothing less than a warring tribe, with their cries of, “Hotchkiss,
Hotchkiss, Hotchkiss will win, death to all Bearcats.”
    Fletcher
ran all the way to the assembly point to meet his parents, as cars and taxis
came streaming in past the lake. Fletcher scanned every vehicle, searching for
his father and mother.
    “How
are you, Andrew my darling?” were his mother’s first words as she stepped out
of the car.
    “Fletcher,
I’m Fletcher at Hotchkiss,” he whispered, hoping that none of the other boys
had heard the word “darling.” He shook hands with