REJOICING AT YALE.
Harris found his opportunity to slip away when the train drew into the station at New Haven.
A band of music was on hand to meet the returning conquerors. A wild mob of screaming, cheering, horn-tooting students was there.
It was evening, and the Yale lads had come down to the station with torches, prepared to give the eleven such a reception as no other football team had ever met.
When the train drew into the station, the band was hammering away at a blood-stirring tune. When the train stopped, the great crowd of young men and boys presented a perfect sea of upturned faces beneath the flaring light of the torches. Blue was everywhere. It was Yale's great day, and all New Haven wore the color.
The train stopped. Then there was a fierce swaying and surging of the crowd, a flutter of flags, followed by a mighty cheer that was like a savage yell of joy over the downfall of a defeated and slain enemy.
How they shouted for Yale! How they swayed and surged! How like lunatics they were!
The sound of the band was drowned, and not a strain of music could be heard. The musicians continued to play, but they might have saved their breath.
The crowd knew well enough that the eleven would be on the smoker. That was the car in which the victors could disport themselves as hilariously as they pleased.
The smoker began to discharge its passengers. Paul Pierson was the first to get off, and he was followed closely by a stream of Yale men.
The general cheering had died down, but almost every man who stepped from the train was greeted in some peculiar manner.
"What's the matter with Yale?" howled a voice.
Then a thousand throats seemed to roar back:
"She's all right! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! Yale!"
Bruce Browning appeared.
"Hey, Brownie!" cried some one on the platform. "How's your corns?"
"Sore," answered the big fellow. "Strained 'em cheering for Yale."
Bink Stubbs came forth riding astride Puss Parker's shoulders. Somewhere on the train he had captured a silk hat that was much too large for him, and it had dropped down over his head to his ears, which were lopped forward by the weight of it. In the hatband was stuck the short staff of a small flag. Bink had a horn, and he blew a hoarse blast the moment he was outside the car.
"Where'd you get that horn?" called a voice.
"This horn's nothing," returned the little fellow. "I've had about twenty horns besides this, and still my neck is dry."
Four fellows came off the car, carrying a fifth. They held their caps in their hands, and were as mournful and sad-appearing as possible. The one who was carried had a big white placard on his breast. On the card were these words:
"I bet a dime on Harvard, and dropped dead after the game!"
It was not an easy thing to carry him down the steps, but the mournful-appearing bearers succeeded in doing the trick.
Dismal Jones came forth from the car. He was holding a handkerchief to his eyes and pretending to weep.
This brought a shout of delight, and some one yelled back:
"Weep for poor old Harvard. She needs it."
Then Capt. Forrest of the eleven appeared.
A mighty roar went up the moment he was seen. It was a great shout of admiration and welcome. It brought a hot flush of satisfaction to his cheeks, and he stood bowing and smiling on the platform.
"What's the matter with Forrest?" shrieked a voice, when the noise lulled somewhat.
"He's a lulu!" shrieked another voice.
"He's all right—he is!" roared the crowd.
Then they cheered for him in the regular manner.
Each player was received with an ovation as he came out of the car, and they must have felt themselves well repaid for their weeks of hard training and practice.
Frank Merriwell was nearly the last one to show himself. The crowd had been waiting for him.
What a shout went up! The torches flared, and it seemed that the very stars quivered with the volume of sound.
"Merriwell! Merriwell! Merriwell!" roared the vast throng.
Roar! roar! roar! It seemed that they would never stop. It was an ovation that might have pleased a monarch.
Frank would have been less than human had he not thrilled with satisfaction as he heard them cheering him thus. He took off his cap and bowed again and again. He tried to descend from the steps and mingle with the throng, but some of them held him back. They seemed to want him up there where they could look at him.
It was some time before the cheering subsided. At last, somebody began to shout:
"Speech! speech! speech!"
Frank shook his head, but it was useless. They were determined he should say something. He saw he could not escape, so he held up one hand.
Silence fell on the great crowd beneath the torchlights.
Then Frank spoke—a single sentence:
"Every man of us did his level best for dear old Yale!"
That was enough. They went mad again, and again they roared till they were hoarse. They cheered for Yale, they cheered for Forrest, they cheered for Merriwell. Of everything for which they cheered, Merriwell created the greatest enthusiasm.
Then he was lifted from the steps and carried away on the shoulders of his admirers, while the mob swarmed after him.
The band got out and formed to head the parade of triumph. The crowd of students fell in behind. The band struck up, and away they went, with the Yale eleven close behind them.
Great crowds had turned out to witness the spectacle, knowing the students meant to give their victorious team a rousing reception. All along the line the spectators cheered and waved hats, flags and handkerchiefs.
A committee had raised a fund for fireworks, and Roman candles began to pop up balls of fire, while rockets went whizzing into the air from the head of the procession.
No one interfered with the rejoicing students. It was their night, and the city fathers remained in the background and permitted them to have a glorious time.
Some of the business places were prepared for their appearance with illuminated windows. All New Haven seemed delighted.
This year every one had seemed to expect Harvard would "wipe up the gridiron" with Yale, and this victory was so unexpected that it set the people wild with delight.
All along the line the students sang and cheered. Now and then the band could be heard pounding away industriously.
In this manner they marched to the college grounds. As they drew near the college, Browning suddenly descended on the trombone player and captured his horn.
That was a signal for a general rush upon the band by the boys, and, within three minutes, every instrument was in the hands of a Yale student.
Some of the boys could play on the instruments they captured, and some could simply make a noise.
"Attention!" roared Browning, who seemed to have awakened from the lethargy that had been on him so long, and was once more a leader in a genuine racket. "We will play the 'Star-Spangled Banner.' All ready! Let her rip!"
They played! Such a wild medley of sounds never was heard before. Puss Parker had a cornet, and he was playing the air of the "Star Spangled Banner," while Browning was putting in the variations with the trombone. But the others played anything they could think of and some things they could not think of! "John Brown's Body," "Yankee Doodle," "Marching Through Georgia," "Suwanee River," and "Hail Columbia," were some of the tunes that mingled in that medley. Those who could not play anything at all added to the hideous din by making the captured horns bleat forth horrible sounds. Bink Stubbs had secured the bass drumstick, and the way he hammered the big drum was a caution. He did his best to break in the head—and finally succeeded!
In this manner the rejoicing students marched right in upon the campus, regardless of policemen, professors, rules or regulations.