“Still worrying?” asked Phil.
“Of course. So would you, if you were in my place. Don’t you know what this game means to us?”
“Sure we do, me lad,” answered Bricktop, kindly. “But say this over to yourself a few times and you’ll feel better. ’Tis a proverb of me old Irish ancestors. ‘Soft an’ aisy goes far in a day,’ that’s it. ‘Soft and aisy goes far in a day.’ Remember that, Tommy, me lad, and take it ‘aisy’ as the good Irish say. We’ll win—never fear—we’ll win.”
There was talk and laughter, serious conversation and much chaffing as the auto rumbled along. They had started early and thought they would have plenty of time, but something went wrong with the steering gear once, and a second time the water in the radiator needed replenishing, so that with the delays it left the players with no more than time to get to Boxer Hall in season for the game, and left hardly any time for practice.
“Hadn’t you better hit up the pace a little, my friend,” suggested Mr. Leighton to the chauffeur.
“I will, yes, sir,” was the answer, and the big car did make better time, for it was on a good road. The team fell to laughing and joking again, but suddenly stopped, as the auto once more came to a halt just before crossing Pendleton river, a stream somewhat larger than Sunny river, and intercepting the main road between the two colleges.
“What’s up now?” asked Tom.
“The drawbridge is open,” replied the chauffeur.
The players stood up and looked across the river. The draw, which was necessary on account of a number of sailboats on the stream, was swung, making an impassable gap, for the stream at that point was swift and deep. Some men were seen on the middle of the bridge.
“What’s the matter? Why don’t you swing shut that bridge?” yelled Phil.