"Ten to eight—play!"
There was a scuffle, a fall, and a hot discussion. Two girls grasped the ball, and the captains hesitated. Miss Kassan ran up, and in the little lull Theodora heard from the platform:
"Oh, give it to the freshmen! They deserve it!"
"No, Miss Greer had it!"
"She knocked the girl off it, if that's what—" A rebellious howl from the yellow gallery as Miss Greer bore off the ball, and a man's voice:
"Oh, nonsense! If you don't want 'em to howl, don't let 'em play! The idea—to get 'em all worked up and then say: 'No, young ladies, control yourselves!' How idiotic! I don't blame 'em—I'd howl myself—Jiminy crickets! Look at that girl! Good work! Good work!"
"Eleven to eight—play!"
"Good old Suttie! Good girl! Ninety-gre-e-e-en!"
Theodora's mouth was dry, and she ran to the coach for a lemon. The junior's hand shook, and her voice was husky from shouting.
"It's grand—it's grand!" she said quickly. "Martha's mad as a hatter! See her braid!"