“Last year,” said Mart, making the bed squeak as he tossed himself into a new position, “I was asleep before eleven. Let’s light up and read awhile, Brand.”
“Let’s try it again for awhile first,” was the answer. “Maybe if we stop thinking about the game we’ll make it.”
“Yes, but how are you going to stop thinking of it?” sighed Martin. “Well—”
Silence fell. The half-hour struck. Presently a gentle snore came from the left-hand bed, joined a few minutes later by a second.
[CHAPTER XXIV]
ALTON CELEBRATES
Cloud and sun were struggling for supremacy the next morning when Willard looked out the window. The tips of the trees were swaying briskly under a southwest breeze, but it was evident that, whether fair or cloudy, the day was to be milder than yesterday. Already there was a wild hubbub from the corridor as boys raced for the lavatory, and football songs sounded bravely. Willard didn’t have much appetite at breakfast; nor, for that matter, did many of his table companions display any marvelous enthusiasm for food. They were far too excited. A holiday air prevailed and laughter was louder and conversation more incessant than usual. At intervals the broad windows across the crowded hall lighted up palely, making a promise that was never quite fulfilled.
The four met in the corridor after breakfast and discussed their mission beside one of the radiators. “Who’s going to do the talking?” asked Calvin. “And what are we going to say?”