Then the hall quieted down, and Dan, more embarrassed than before, began to speak.
“Fellows,” he said, “I can’t talk very well. In fact, I’m just about scared to death. I guess you can see that. But what I’ve got to say won’t take long. You’ve made me captain and I’m going to do the best I know how for you. I’m not making any promises. That would be a silly thing to do because we none of us can tell what may happen as—as the season advances. But we’ve got a mighty good start for the team this fall. We’ve got five of the fellows who played against Broadwood last year and a lot of good second string fellows. So as far as—as experienced material goes we’ve got no kick coming. But I don’t want you to think that we’ve got all the men we want, for we haven’t. I hope that to-morrow afternoon every one of you chaps who hasn’t lost a leg or an arm will come out for the team. I want to see the biggest bunch of candidates that ever turned out at Yardley! And don’t stay away because you think you can’t play football. Come out and get to work and we’ll tell you in a week whether you can play or not. You know they’ve changed the rules again this year and a fellow doesn’t have to weigh two hundred pounds to be of use to the team. We want fellows who have speed and who can handle a ball, and, above all, we want fellows who can kick. Well, I guess that’s all.” Dan’s hands unconsciously went back to his pockets and a cheer went up. But he didn’t take them out this time. He only smiled. “There’s one thing more, though,” he went on earnestly. “What Goodyear told you about standing back of the team is so. I don’t mean just coming down to the field and cheering. That’s all right as far as it goes. What I mean is letting us know all the time that you’re right back of us, hoping us on, wishing us on, pulling every minute! You do your share, fellows, and we’ll do ours, I promise you!”
Pandemonium reigned for a good two minutes after Dan walked back to his chair. Then Hammel, the baseball captain, was on his feet calling for “a cheer for Captain Vinton, fellows, and make it good!” And it was good, and if Oxford Hall hadn’t been built of granite I think it would have shook under that outburst.
Then Payson got up, and more cheering followed, for the big, broad-shouldered man of thirty-two who faced them was a school idol. In his six years as football and baseball coach at Yardley, John Payson had turned out four winning teams on the gridiron and had done very nearly as well on the diamond. He had quick, sharp black eyes, a broad, strong jaw and an ease and grace of carriage that quite belied his two hundred and odd pounds. Payson spoke quietly and seriously and the hall was so still that you might have heard a pin drop. He agreed with the previous speakers that the outlook was bright, but reminded them that many a team with fine early season prospects had come a cropper before now. And then he repeated the captain’s call for candidates, for hard work, for self-sacrifice and devotion and for the whole-souled support of the student body. And then, as he turned away and the stilled audience burst into sound, the leader of the Banjo and Mandolin Club nodded his head and the strains of “The Years Roll On” broke into the tumult. Instantly every fellow was on his feet, singing the slow, sweet song:
“The years roll on. Too soon we find
Our boyhood days are o’er.
The scenes we’ve known, the friends we’ve loved,
Are gone to come no more.
But in the shrine of Memory
We’ll hold and cherish still
The recollection fond of those
Dear days on Yardley Hill.”
Very reverently they sang it, and not many without a thrill and, perhaps, a moistening of the eyes. Many of the older boys could remember standing with heads bared to the cold November wind and singing it grandly after Yardley had gone down to defeat before her rival. All save the new boys had sung it at class day under swaying, many-hued lanterns and with the warm breath of June in their faces. If you are a Yardley man, young or old, you can never hear that song unmoved:
“The years roll on. To man’s estate
From youthful mold we pass,
And Life’s stern duties bind us round,
And doubts and cares harass.
But God will guard through storms and give
The strength to do His will
And treasure e’er the lessons learned
Of old on Yardley Hill.”
The last strain died away, there was a moment of silence, and then caps were slipped onto heads, feet shuffled on the floor, settees were pushed aside and the fellows crowded toward the doors. Then down the old, worn stairway they went, talking and laughing a little subduedly, and out into a mild September night lighted by millions of twinkling white stars that seemed to shine down kindly as though sympathizing with the glow of exaltation, of courage and kindliness and patriotism, in all those boyish hearts.