Dick swung the megaphone from left to right, as he called out through it:
"Now, then—-number seven!"
From the boy's side came the prompt response, in slow, measured cadence, every word of it distinct:
"C-O-B-B-E-R! Born in misfortune! Reared on trouble. Grew to be a disgrace—-and died in tears!"
Cobber's friends had to "chew" over that. They had nothing in their repertory of "sass" that seemed to fill this bill.
To return an inapt yell would be worse than silence. So the visitors sat scowling at the field.
"Score one on Cobber's goat," grinned Dave Darrin.
Presently, after some whispering on the visitors' stand, this rather lame one came from the college crowd:
"C-O-B-B-E-R! C-O-B-W-E-B! Our trap for the foolish little fly!"
One of the few girls on the visitors' stand rose to wave her brown and gray banner. She slipped and fell through between the seats.