Friday night there was a mass-meeting under the elms in the yard, and Horton, Mr. Parks and a graduate of the school of some forty years before—a Mr. Walbridge—were the speakers. They stood on the steps of Russell and torches lighted up the scene. There had been a torchlight parade up and down the walks of the school, and the procession finally halted in front of the wide steps of Russell Hall where the speakers were in readiness.
"We are going out next Saturday for a victory, boys," said Horton. "We have been down in the mouth all the season because factions have been pulling us one way and another, but that is all over now. You played good football this afternoon, but you'll have to play better next Saturday for those fellows up the river are going to give you the battle of your lives. But if you will forget all your disagreements and get together, and then stay together, we'll show them yet."
"You bet we will," sang out a voice from the rear, as Horton retired. "Three cheers for Horton."
Harding, the captain of the eleven, wakened from his lethargy by the enthusiasm, jumped out in front of the bunch of boys and cried: "Now a long one for Mr. Horton, get into it," and they did with a vim and a snap which made Horton's eyes brighten.
"Rackety wow, rackety wow, rackety wow, Horton, Horton, Horton."
The rumpus stirred the katydids in their leafy bowers overhead and they were loudly affirming and denying when Mr. Parks gave the boys a word of encouragement. Mr. Parks was followed by the elderly graduate of the school, who told them of football when he was at Queen's.
"We hadn't a quarter of the number of boys to choose from in my day," he said, "and I don't think we were any bigger, but we worked together and played together and ate together, and when we went out on the field to play our games we were so completely together that the team moved like one man. And if you will look over the records of those old days, you'll find that Queen's didn't lose many games.
"It's the same on the football field as it is in the daily walks of life. To be successful, I mean to have the right kind of success, you've got to play fair and hard and keep thinking. If some one slams into you, I know the feeling is to retaliate, for that's human nature; but when you're tempted to do that, just think that while you're slugging the fellow who slammed into you unnecessarily, your opponent may be getting past you, for you can't do two things at once. I remember a fellow in my own class; they called him 'Biff Scott.' He used to play center, and when he could keep his temper he was a wonder. But a hard jolt always made him mad, and then he was a very poor center. In our big game with Warwick, for our big game was with Warwick just the same as yours is now, the Warwick center knew of Scott's weak point, so he teased him into forgetting what he was there for, and they put play after play right over him and actually won the game because he fought and didn't play.
"I'm of the opinion," the old graduate continued, "that what Mr. Horton says is right, that if you give up these little dissensions, get together and stay together, you may yet make this football season something to be proud of. I, for one, believe you can and will do it. That's all."
Again the school yell ripped out sharply and was echoed back by the walls of Warren just across the way. Cheers were given for the team, the coaches, the captain, and a crashing one for Queen's School. Then the torches were swung over shoulders again, and the procession took up its course, the tramp of many feet following the marching melody of the school—