"They certainly are whales," said Frank, "but they look a bit logy to me. A good fast team ought to keep them on the jump."
"Yes, but where do you see that good, fast team? It doesn't live hereabouts, does it?"
"Oh, don't get discouraged so early in the game. Wait at least till they've played a few minutes."
By this time the coach had unloaded, and the heelers of the eleven, reinforced by fifty or more boys of those who had come down earlier in the day, got together and gave the snappy school yell:
"War I wickety-kick,
War I wickety-kick,
Rah, rah, rah, WARWICK."
"They yell as if it were all over, don't they?" observed David, who had just come up.
"There does seem to be something of jubilance in it, that's a fact," said the Wee One. "And the eleven is certainly big enough to give the York Freshmen a rub if weight amounts to anything. Come on, we'd better get to our places, the stand is filling up."
Every one around the country-side within a radius of ten miles was present. Country lads and lassies making a holiday of it; fond papas and mammas to see Charlie or Freddie or Tommy take his part in the game. And mamma was very shivery about what might happen to the young man in the conflict so soon to come. And then there were the young beaux of both Warwick and Queen's who had blossomed out into their very best, each with a pretty little maid, perhaps from as far away as Milton, at his side, who simply revelled in the blue and gold or the red and black. Some of the girls even carried the color scheme into their hats and clothing. And such a hum of talk and such a clatter, as the crowds climbed the wooden bleachers looking for the best vantage points, and such a world of questions for the young beaux to answer the pretty little maidens.