Webster!”
Flutter—flutter—flutter—said the black and red, and the roaring from the Webster side waxed louder and louder, as the Daniel Webster team began its signal practice on the field, but all this time the Marston stand remained a model of dignified silence.
A little longer. Then watches began to be pulled out. What was the matter? It was past time for the game to begin. Where were the Marstons?
At last, just as everyone was asking this question, the other gate opened—another team was in the field! Presto! The Marston grand stand was on its feet. Blue and white!—blue and white!—blue and white!—rippling, waving, flapping in the November sunshine, while the new cry that rent the air was:
“Osky! Wow! Wow!
Skinny! Wow! Wow!
Marston! Wow!”
“Skin Marston!
Wow! Wow! Wow!”