Led by their college band the football warriors paraded to the gridiron followed by a wild column of Pennington rooters, each waving a red and blue pennant. The sight was very impressive and thrilling.
When, at exactly two-twenty, the Pennington eleven trotted, unheralded, onto the field and, tossing off their blue Indian blankets, began to run through some snappy signal work, from the Pennington stands a mass of red and blue rose and fell in perfect rhythm to the tune of "The Warrior," Pennington's football song.
The Bartlett rooters in the stands directly across the field tried their best to defeat the demonstration being made by Pennington, combining the efforts of band and cheer leaders in order to do so, but the momentary enthusiasm of the visiting college at sight of their splendid eleven, for a time, eclipsed all attempts to drown them out.
In the locker room sixteen Bartlett team-mates, primed for battle, heard the roar that swept across the field as the Pennington eleven swooped upon the gridiron. Benz, pulling his shoulder pads in place, strode about the room, nervous and anxious for the fray to begin. Other players showed signs of uneasiness. Judd was the only one on the team who seemed perfectly calm. As the din was at its height he turned to Pole, who had laced and unlaced his shoe three times for no reason whatever, and remarked quietly: "A noisy bunch, aren't they?"
At this moment Coach Phillips entered. He had been watching the enemy eleven as they ran through light signal practice before the frenzied crowd.
A few of the players gathered in a semi-circle about him, arms thrown over each other's shoulders. Some were laboriously rubbing resin into their hands to insure against fumbling the ball. Others, a little affected by the mighty demonstration going on from without, paced restlessly up and down.
"It's going to be a real battle to-day," warned the coach. "Pennington has a wonderful aggregration. Their defeat of the State University some weeks ago gives them the highest rating of any team in this part of the country. A victory to-day puts Bartlett on the football map as never before. And in order to win we must fight, fight, fight, every second of the sixty minutes!
"Pennington has been depending largely this season upon the great work of Gordon, fullback. He is a giant, six feet tall, weight two hundred and fourteen pounds, and fast on his feet. He is the man you must stop! Pennington has won every game this year in the first half. They use this Gordon as a human battering ram, breaking up the opposing line and making victory easy. No eleven this season had been able to check his advances!
"Stop their slashing attack the first half, fellows, and you'll win the game. The reason General Grant was so successful in his campaigns was that he did not realize when he was defeated. He advanced despite his defeats. That's the spirit I want you fellows to show! If you fail to gain ground in one attempt put just that much more strength into the next attempt. Game starts in ten minutes, fellows, so you'd better be getting out on the field. Benz, remember to hit that line lower. Neil, call your signals fast and snappy. Keep the team up and at 'em. You linemen, the fate of to-day's game is largely up to you. You must shoulder the brunt of the work and shatter the Pennington attack. The men who will start to-day's game are,—"
Sixteen heads bobbed suddenly up and sixteen pairs of entreating eyes focused themselves upon the coach.