“We’ll be all right, I think,” he remarked to the manager. “I think our line can hold ’em now without much trouble. And the boys have got their old spirit back—did you notice?” The manager nodded. “Still, don’t be too sure,” Blake added, with a captain’s characteristic caution, “and don’t repeat that to any of the team. I want to keep them working.”
Keep them working he did; and how Tommy enjoyed it! What a reception he got at table! He was again admitted to the freemasonry of fellowship which forms so precious a part of school and college life. His heart grew warm from touching those of others, his life grew bright and more complete. He went to his books with clearer brain and keener zest. He was no longer afraid of falling behind. And the old life of New River valley seemed farther away than ever.
His attitude toward the old life is worth a moment’s attention. As the weeks passed he had found the work of writing letters to his father and mother increasingly difficult. How could he hope to make them understand his joys and sorrows, his hopes and ambitions, in this new life which was so far beyond their horizon? If he had not known that his letters would be read by Mr. Bayliss and Miss Andrews he would have broken down altogether in the effort at letter-writing. The task was the more unwelcome because it recalled to him the squalid conditions of the old life—the grimy house, the dingy beds, the dirty clothing, the ill-cooked food. He wondered how any one could ever stand it—how he had stood it and prospered as much as he had. He was never ashamed of his parents, though he never spoke of them to his classmates; it was only the home that shamed him, and he resolved to rescue the family from it and plant them in cleaner soil.
A week is not a long time when it comes to whipping a football team into shape for a great game, and that one passed all too quickly for Blake. Rumors reached him of the perfect condition of the Princeton freshmen eleven—of their great team work and perfect interference. He gloomily watched his own men at practice on that last day, and while he told himself he had done the best possible with them, he fancied he could detect a hundred weaknesses, and was anything but confident of the result. Still, they played good ball, he had a strong line, his backs were swift and game—well, Lawrenceville would have no reason to be ashamed of them. And just as he had hitherto hidden any satisfaction he may have felt, now, like a good captain, he concealed his doubts and affected a certainty of success he did not feel.
At noon of the great day came the Princeton team, accompanied by nearly the whole class—resplendent in orange and black, now they were away from the campus, where such decoration was forbidden, and where, on their return, the sophomores would call them sternly to account for their desecration of the college colors. They were seemingly quite confident of victory, and poured into the field with great halloo. Their team began at once a little preliminary practice, displaying a verve and agility that sent a chill to more than one Lawrenceville heart. But Captain Blake’s team got a hearty greeting, just the same, when it came running out upon the field, and for a time cheer followed cheer, until it seemed that they must split their throats. But the throats of school-boys and college men seem to be made of some unsplittable material, and in this case—as in all similar ones—there was no damage done.
Then came an instant’s breathless silence as the two captains waited for the referee to toss up a penny.
“Heads!” called Blake, as the coin spun in the air.
The referee stooped and looked at it.
“All right,” he said. “Heads it is. Choose your goal.”
Blake chose the north goal with the wind at his back, while Lawrenceville cheered again at this first piece of good luck.