It was announced on the bulletin board as the “Harboard-Snail Football Game,” and was, in fact, a grand burlesque on a game played not long before between two university teams.
Quite half of the Wellington students took part in the affair and those who were not actively engaged were placed in the cheer sections to yell themselves hoarse. There were a dozen doctors, an ambulance, stretcher bearers, trained nurses and the two teams in proper football attire.
Everybody in college turned out one Saturday afternoon to witness this elaborate parody. A coach drove over from Exmoor fairly alive with students, and the fields outside the Wellington athletic grounds were black with people.
Judy was a member of the corps of physicians who were all dressed alike in frock coats reaching well below the knees, gray trousers and silk hats. They had imposing mustaches, carried bags of instruments and were the most ludicrous of all the actors that day.
But it was the stretcher bearers who seemed to excite the greatest merriment in the grand parade which took place before the game began. They were dressed something like “Slivers,” the famous clown, in full white pantaloons and long white coats cut in at the waist with wide skirts. The members of the cheering sections which headed the grand column were dressed in every sort of absurd burlesque of a college boy’s clothes that could be devised.
“How they ever collected all those ridiculous costumes is a marvel to me,” exclaimed President Walker to Dr. McLean, whose face had turned an apoplectic purple from laughter and who occasionally let out a roar of joy that could be heard all the way across the field.
Following the cheering sections in the parade were the two teams, hardly recognizable at all as human beings. Their wigs of tousled hair stood out all over their heads like the petals of enormous chrysanthemums. Most of them wore nose guards or their faces were made up in a savage and barbaric fashion. In their wadded football suits, stuffed out of all human recognition, they resembled trussed fowls. In the vanguard of this strange and ludicrous procession stalked a gigantic figure of Liberty. She was about fifteen feet high, and her draperies reached to the ground. Her long red hair blew in the breezes and she carried a Wellington banner, which she majestically waved over the heads of the multitude. By her side ran a dwarf. They were the mascots of the two sides.
“Why, if that isn’t our little friend, Miss Molly Brown,” exclaimed Dr. McLean, pointing to Liberty. “She’s a bonnie lass and a sweet one. Think now, of her being able to walk on those sticks without losing her balance. It’s a verra great achievement, I’m thinking, for a giddy-headed young woman. For they’re all giddy-headed at seventeen or thereabouts.”
It was indeed Molly, the only girl in all Wellington who could walk on stilts. The seniors had advertised in The Commune for a first-class “stiltswoman,” and Molly had promptly offered her services. Jessie had been selected as the dwarf.
“I hope the child won’t fall and break her neck,” said Mrs. McLean on the other side of the doctor. “It’s verra dangerous. Suppose she should become suddenly faint——”