The advance guard of the enemy had begun to put in an appearance by the time Stuart and Le Gette got back to the campus, and blue pennants and arm bands were well in evidence. Luncheon for the players was a lightweight affair at twelve, at which there was far more talking than eating. Talk is a splendid outlet for nervousness. After luncheon the squad went to the gymnasium and walked through half a dozen plays and listened to a final talk by the coach. Like many of his kind, Mr. Haynes firmly believed that the team scoring first was the team that won. Perhaps later he changed his mind, but to-day he still believed and shared his belief.
“We’re going to get the jump on Pearsall,” he explained. “We’re going to try mighty hard to score inside the first ten minutes. After we have scored we’ll play a safe game, but until we have we’re going to take chances and use every trick that will gain ground. The first punch is what counts, fellows, and we want to deliver it. I want to see Pearsall played right off her feet in the first eight or ten minutes. That means that every one of you must show all the speed and all the snap you know, and a bit more besides. There’s to be no time called, no hesitation about signals. Every man must keep on the jump every minute.”
Manning went over to the field at half-past one. Already the stands were well sprinkled. The townsfolk had showed their allegiance by turning out in their bravest array, many of them bringing lunch along so that they might be early on hand and secure the best seats. The yearly circus and the Manning-Pearsall football game were the only events capable of inducing Safford citizens outside their doors. Pearsall romped on a few minutes later, by which time there was a sufficient number of her adherents in place to give her a rousing welcome. That event started the cheering which continued without respite until the teams took the field. Down in front of the Manning sections, Stearns Wilson, cheer captain, and McColl, Trenholme and Neil Orr, his lieutenants, swung their big cherry-colored megaphones and worked hard. The way in which Neil danced about on his crutches and waved his arms was a wonder and a delight, and it is no exaggeration to say that, although his section held a goodly number of visitors sprinkled in with the students, he obtained quite as good results as any of the other leaders.
The day had turned just a little too warm for the comfort of the warriors, but the absence of wind was something to be thankful for and atoned for the excess of temperature. The Pearsall squad, some thirty strong, looked hard and eager. Statistics gave the visitors a two pound advantage in the rushline and placed the backfield average at the same figure. Five minutes before two Captain Brewton led his squad to the bench and Coach Haynes summoned Stuart.
“Harven,” he announced, “you’re going to start at quarter. I think you can run the team somewhat faster than Wheaton, and speed is what we want. You know the plays. Make them go and make them go fast. I want a score—a touchdown if we can get it, a field goal if we can’t—inside of ten minutes. If we haven’t got it then, you come out, Harven.”
“If we have got it, sir?”
“You play the half through, barring accidents.”
“All right, sir. We’ll have it if it’s to be had.”
“It is to be had, Harven, and I want you to feel so. There are two things to keep in mind every minute. One is accuracy and the other is speed. Get your plays right and then make them go fast. Get the jump from the kick-off and never lose it!”