The day after the great game the Boston and New York morning papers gave columns to a full report of the contest. All the evening papers of the day before had contained reports, but on the following morning the story was told more fully and accurately.
Not a morning paper appeared in either city that did not contain Frank Merriwell's picture. It made little difference if some of the pictures were poor, Frank's name was beneath each and every one of them.
The papers gave him glaring headlines. He was called "The Yale Trojan," "The Sensation of the Season," "The Boy of Iron," and many other complimentary things.
All Yale was reading the papers, and Frank was more than ever the topic of conversation, for his fellow-students began to realize that he had played an even more important part in the game than was at first thought possible by those who had not witnessed it.
If Frank had smoked or drank he would not have found it necessary to buy a cigar or a drink for weeks to come. Scores of fellows would have considered it a great honor to buy smokes and drinks for him.
But Merriwell neither smoked nor drank. He had never indulged in tobacco or liquor. Who knows how much that was responsible for his wonderful strength, nerve and wind?
At the fence a group gathered early and read and discussed the newspaper reports. Rob Marline seemed to be the only man who did not have a paper.
"What's the matter with you, old man?" asked Tom Thornton. "You are looking as blue as if we had lost yesterday."
"I'm feeling grouchy," confessed Marline.
"Ankle?"