“They evidently believe in their team,” he thought to himself, and he felt a natural touch of pride as he recalled the praises of Wolcott contained in those letters from Ware and Laughlin. The present scene threw a new light on their earnestness.
Meantime on the Hillbury side the band appeared, with the whole contingent of Hillburyites trooping after. They pushed on to their seats in silence, leaving to the music a free hand; but once established, their cheers rang sharp and clear across the field. Mr. Lindsay watched with admiring interest the four distant cheer leaders swinging their batons with identical stroke, and ruling the three hundred voices as a conductor rules an orchestra.
“They are better cheerers,” he was thinking,—the crowd across the field always seems to cheer the better,—“yes, they are certainly better cheerers, but our marching was more effective.” And while he was laughing softly to himself that he should thus identify himself with these youthful, misguided lunatics, a great roar rose about him at the sight of a score of strapping, brown-suited, red-legged wild men who came tumbling over the side ropes into the field. Here they divided, a knot of eleven following the ball in signal practice up the field, while the rest in red blankets and sweaters streamed across to the Seaton side-lines.
The Seaton volley of welcome was still reverberating when over the same side ropes leaped the Hillbury squad, looking massive in heavy, blue-lettered sweaters, and a knot of blue legs flashed down the field behind another ball. And now were heard cheers and counter cheers,—cheers of Hillbury by Seaton and of Seaton by Hillbury, cheers for both captains from both sides, cheers for the general cause, cheers to keep up the spirit, cheers of hope and of defiance. The practice squads broke up; big blue legs and big red legs met in the centre of the field; the gladiators shook each other by the hand, and turned to a wiry little man wearing a white jersey with a college letter upon it, who tossed a coin into the air and examined it as it lay upon the ground. Red-legs said something, the referee nodded, the captains hurried to their men, sweaters came off, headguards went on, the players scattered to their places. When the field cleared itself of sweater bearers, sponge holders, and water-pail carriers, the Hillbury side was singing its well-learned song of defiance which Seaton was straining its vocal chords to drown. The Hillbury tackle was propping the ball with a bunch of moist earth for the kick-off, and the Seaton eleven was sprinkled over the field with their backs to wind and sun.