[CHAPTER XXX]
THE CHAMPIONSHIP
Such a crowd as filled the big Polo Grounds! The grandstands seemed full, and the bleachers too, but the elevated and surface roads brought more constantly, and the honking autos added to the clamor. It was a perfect day, and the ball field—one of the best in the world—where professionals meet professionals—was laid out with mathematical precision.
From their lairs near the press boxes the tigers trotted to be welcomed with shouts and yells from their supporters and the songs of their fellows.
“They beat us once—as we did them,” said Joe in a low voice. “They may beat us again.”
“Not much!” cried Spike. “A Yale victory is in the air. I can feel it! Look at that blue,” and he pointed to the sky, “and then at that,” and he waved toward the azure-hued Yale stand, “and say we’re going to lose! I guess not!”
“A cheer for every man!” yelled the leader of the Princeton cheer masters, who were armed with big megaphones as were their New Haven rivals, except that the ribbons were of the tiger’s stripes. “A cheer for every man!”
And then, as the Jersey cheer was howled there followed each time the name of some player—sweet music to their ears, no doubt.