Then the pandemonium was at its height when the teams ran out upon the field and the excited youngsters on the stadium seats rose and shouted their greetings. Betty stood and waved and gave the yells with the rest. She might not have been long in Lyon High, but she was a part of it now! It was her school! There! That was Freddy Fisher, upon whose plays so much depended. There went that mysterious tall boy that somebody said came from Switzerland and somebody else said was a Russian. My, but he was an active chap! He was almost as good as Freddy, Chet Dorrance had told Betty, but he didn’t always understand the signals and occasionally the team was penalized for something that he did either accidentally or on purpose. “He’s a hot one when he’s mad,” said Chet, “and I guess he still thinks in his own language, whatever that is, though he likes to play and learn all the new signals pretty quick, the coach says.”
“Peggy, there is your hero,” laughed Carolyn.
“Who?” inquired Peggy.
“The ‘Don.’”
“Oh, yes. I did say that he deserved as much glory as Freddy for that last game, didn’t I? He gave such fine interference.”
“The ‘Don’?” inquired Betty, puzzled.
“They have him Spanish now, Betty. He’s been Russian, German, Hungarian and I don’t know what all and I think the boys like to tease us girls by making up something new about him all the time. But isn’t he sort of handsome?”
“I’d hate to say, Peggy, if you like his looks,” countered Betty.
“Betty likes them fixed up and awfully clean, like Ted Dorrance, Peggy,” mischievously said Carolyn.
Betty flushed a little, but smiled. “I have a brother, girls. He’s better now, but time was when Dick would just as lief never wash from ‘early morn till dewy eve’ as Father used to say. ‘Aw, what was the use of washing before breakfast when you had to wash right after it?’” Betty gave a comical imitation of Dick’s tones.