"All ready," said the captain.
They broke into a trot and swept up to the cheering mass. Dink remembered seeing the Tennessee Shad, in his shirt sleeves, frantically leading the school and thinking how funny he looked. Then some one pulled a blanket over him and he was camped among the substitutes, peering out at the gridiron where already the two elevens were sweeping back and forth in vigorous signal drill.
He looked eagerly at the Andover eleven. They were big, rangy fellows and their team worked with a precision and machine-like rush that the red and black team did not have.
"Trouble with us is," said the voice of Fatty Harris, at his elbow, "our team's never gotten together. The fellows would rather slug each other than the enemy."
"Gee, that fellow at tackle is a monster," said Dink, picking out McCarty's opponent.
"Look at Turkey Reiter and the Waladoo Bird," continued Fatty Harris. "Bad blood! And there's Tough McCarty and King Lentz. We're not together, I tell you! We're hanging apart!"
"Lord, will they ever begin!" said Dink, blowing on his hands that had suddenly gone limp and clammy.
"We've won the toss," said another voice. "There's a big wind, we'll take sides."
"Andover's kick-off," said Fatty Harris.
Stover sunk his head in his blanket, waiting for the awful moment to end. Then a whistle piped and he raised his head again. The ball had landed short, into the arms of Butcher Stevens, who plunged ahead for a slight gain and went down under a shock of blue jerseys.