But all things considered, Betty began to want to do well. “Let’s beat the first team, girls,” she said to her girls just before the last practice game, and beat the first team they did, though scolded for it.
“Now don’t let the fact that the second team beat you discourage you at all, girls,” said the athletic teacher who had watched the game. “It was a close game and let it make you all the more careful against the other teams in your class contest. I’m not favoring one team more than another; but I want to encourage every one to do its very best.”
“The freshman team hasn’t had enough practice,” said Carolyn in the gym before the games. The girls were putting on their customary equipment and donning sweaters, for it was cold though clear outside, with the ground hard, yet free from snow. Unless it rained, the climate in which Lyon High rejoiced was good for outdoor sports almost until Christmas. “So I think that the freshmen will be out of it and the juniors and sophomores play against each other at the last. The seniors are too sure and they have some weak material. I’ve been watching their practice games.”
Carolyn was not playing, but “terribly interested,” she said. Many sophomore rooters were on hand when the games were played, and sure enough, it was the juniors against the sophomores at the last. Mathilde was hit by one of the hockey sticks early in the games and Betty took her place, much to Mathilde’s discomfiture. Her “hated rival” played along with the daughter of a countess, whose friendship Mathilde so much wanted to have for herself, and only for herself.
“Good, Betty,” said Lucia, when Betty was put in. “I’m sorry for Mathilde, but she makes so many wild plays and isn’t quick enough. Now let’s beat the juniors all to pieces, as you girls say!”
Fast and furiously went the game. The juniors expected to win, yet they were never taken unaware. It was a fair and excellent game, the athletic directors said, yet the sophomores did win and Lucia threw her arms around Betty after it was over. “I’m going to tell my uncle how you played, Betty!” she exclaimed. “I wanted Mother to come and see me do something, but she wouldn’t. She only hoped I wouldn’t get hurt and it wouldn’t turn out like the hike! How’s that for a mother that came over here on purpose to make an American out of me?”
“Did she, honestly, Lucia,” asked Betty, hugging Lucia in return.
“Of course she did and I like it now, only I shall always want my father, too.”
“Well, you write him that you were ‘the noblest Roman of them all,’ according to me, and I know!”
“I will, Betty,” and Lucia’s smile was a happy one. “Come on,” said she, “let’s go and comfort poor Mathilde.”