On the grand stand where the Sigma Pi girls were sitting, a quick glance of intelligence ran along. “Webster never would have made that touchdown if Bobs had been here!” was whispered from one to the other.
“That’s not fair!” Louise murmured to Jacquette. “I’m not saying anything against Bobs, but my brother says there isn’t a better quarterback on a high school team anywhere than Quis.”
Meanwhile, down in the field, the struggle of the first half was being repeated. Marston was reinforced by Bobs’s presence, but Webster played with the confidence born of success, and, again, each fought an obstinate foe.
If systematic cheering could have won the game, Marston would have had it. Over and over, the grand stand rose to its feet and shouted as one man such heartening yells as,
“Harum! Scarum! Wah Whoo!
Hear us! Cheer us! White and blue!
We play football! That’s no joke!
Marston High School! Hic! Haec! Hoc!”
Down below, Captain Bobs Drake, dimly conscious of the support the school was giving him, seemed, by sheer force of will, to be driving his team toward the far white goal line which meant victory. The score still remained as at the end of the first half. As the close of the game approached, he realised, almost with desperation, that no combined effort on the part of the team could break down the defence which confronted it. He, Bobs Drake, must win that game.
“Seven rahs for the team!” roared the man who was directing the cheering from the Marston stand, and, “Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Bobs!” was exploded on the air.