The school felt very sore after that game and Bob and Martin and Willard were far from popular. There was a distinct atmosphere of discouragement over the Academy on Sunday, and it didn’t lift perceptibly until Monday evening, when, at the third of the football mass meetings, Coach Cade made an earnest appeal for support that brought the audience to their feet, cheering madly.
“We’ve been hit hard,” he said. “There wouldn’t be any sense in my denying that. But this is a fight that we’re in, and one blow isn’t going to beat us. It’s just going to get our blood up, fellows, and we’re going to fight harder than we ever thought of fighting. We’re going into the Kenly game, maybe, beaten on paper, but we’re coming out of it victorious. It won’t be the first time that a supposedly weaker team has won. It’s spirit that counts, the spirit to fight and conquer, no matter the odds. And that’s the spirit Alton is going to have next Saturday. There isn’t a man on the team, from Captain Myers down to the greenest substitute, that thinks we are going to be beaten; there isn’t one of them that doesn’t know that we can win and will win! And I know it. And I want everyone of you fellows to know it, too, and to let the team know that you know it! We’ll do our part, but you’ve got to do yours. Will you?”
The answer was convincing.
The four on probation didn’t attend that meeting, nor were they able to see the efforts that Coach Cade put forth to repair the team in the few days remaining, but they heard of each, and each was affected in his own fashion. Martin stormed at his fate and got red in the face, Bob was very silent and pathetic and Willard smiled to hide a sore heart. Cal was frankly miserable, blaming himself for the mischief and taking the misfortune to the others perhaps a little harder than they did. Willard dropped in on Felix McNatt Tuesday afternoon before supper and got much inside news of the football situation.
“Rowlandson will probably do very well,” reported McNatt, “but Putney isn’t the right sort for tackle, and I wish Mr. Cade would see it. He hasn’t the proper temperament, Harmon.”
“How about the backfield?” asked Willard. “How—how’s Mawson getting on?”
“Mawson is a hard worker, but he’s lighter than he should be and he’s not so clever at finding the holes as you were, Harmon,” answered McNatt judicially. “Cochran is remarkably good when at his best, but he—ah—fluctuates.”
“It doesn’t sound hopeful,” murmured Willard.
“Oh, I’ve no doubt that we will win from Kenly,” answered McNatt. “You see, since we lost Proctor and Newhall we’ve come together a lot better, and the morale of the team is much finer. Kenly, as I figure it, will enter the game fairly sure of winning. We’ll go in realizing that, while we may win it, we’ve got to play powerful football to do it. When you just have to do a thing, you do it,” concluded McNatt convincedly.
Willard considered that conclusion a moment in silence, a silence broken at length by his host. “I presume,” he said, “that there’s no hope of Newhall and Proctor—and you—getting back on before Saturday.”