Stover stopped a moment, curiously moved, and obeying an instinct, said brusquely:
"Yes, I'll take care of that."
Then he went hurriedly out.
That night, after supper—a meal full of nervous laughter and assumed spirits—two or three of the older coaches came in, and their spirit of hopefulness somehow communicated itself to the team. Other Yale elevens had risen at the last moment and snatched a victory—why not theirs? It lay with them, and during the week they certainly had forged ahead. Dink felt the infection and became almost convinced. Then Tompkins, moving around as the spirit of confidence, signaled him.
"Come out here; I want a little pow-wow with you."
They left the others and went out on the dim lawns with the lighted club-house at their backs, and Tompkins, drawing his arm through Stover's, began to speak:
"Dink, we're in for a licking."
"Oh, I say!" said Stover, overwhelmed. "But we have come on; we've come fast."
"Stover, that's a great Princeton team," said Tompkins quietly, "and we're a weak Yale one. We're going to get well licked. Now, boy, I'm telling you this because I think you're the stuff to stand it; because you'll play better for knowing what's up to you."