“Rah! Rah! Rah!”
“Toot! Toot! Toot!”
These were only some of the cries that burst forth from hundreds of throats at the annual game between the Elmwood and Holwell schools, as the Freshmen prepared to clash in their gridiron battle.
The game was to take place on the Elmwood grounds, and both teams were out for practice. The crowds were beginning to arrive, and the bands were playing.
“Say, there’s a mob here all right,” remarked Jack to Tom. “A raft of people.”
“Yes. I hope we win.”
“Oh, sure we will. Don’t get nervous. I only wish Bert was at quarter instead of Sam Heller.”
“So do I, but it can’t be helped. I guess it will be all right.”
“Line up!”
It was the final call. The preliminaries had been all arranged, the goals chosen, and the practice balls called in. Elmwood was to kick off, and the new yellow pigskin was handed to her burly centre, who was poising it on a little mound of earth in the middle of the field.