[CHAPTER XX]
THE NIGHT BEFORE
Thursday brought the season’s preparations to an end, saw the Second Team disband—with noisy and appropriate ceremonies—and witnessed the appearance of the Football Number of the “Doubleay.” The weekly was still brimming with optimism on the subject of the Kenly game, but, like more important publications, it was careful to leave itself an avenue of retreat guarded by “Ifs.” Nevertheless the two-page article was encouraging reading to those who wanted Alton Academy to win and who were timorous about expecting her to. Of course there was the usual biographical paragraph regarding each of the players and the absorbing statistics of age, height and weight. And, finally, came “the probable line-up for Saturday’s game,” as follows:
L.E. Kruger
L.T. Thomas
L.G. Wick or Meecham
C. Patten
R.G. Lowe (Captain)
R.T. Haines
R.E. Savell or Burton
Q.B. Ball
L.H.B. Storer
R.H.B. Ness or Hollins
F.B. Galvin
Bert rather expected Chick to voice objection to being relegated to second place by the “Flubdub,” for the impression about the Academy was that he had proved his right to start the game, an impression that Chick doubtless shared. But there wasn’t even a murmur from him, and Bert marveled. Bert had his own problem to solve, which was why Ness’s name had been set down for the right half-back position. Ness hadn’t played at right more than half a dozen times during the fall and surely not since mid-season. He was first substitute for Storer, and as such a very valuable member for the team. In the end, after mentally considering all sorts of backfield combinations that included Tyron and Keys and Walsh and even Parkhurst, Bert concluded that the “Flubdub” had merely made a mistake. The “Flubdub” had been known to!
Commencing Tuesday, there was a cheer meeting every night that week. Mr. Cade had advised the members of the squad to stay away from them, and they did, but that didn’t prevent them from hearing a good deal of the enthusiasm, for almost always the gathering in the auditorium, so soon as the arranged program was concluded, adjourned to the campus and started a fresh and impromptu celebration which usually kept up until a faculty member appeared on the scene. Friday evening the outdoor portion of the event was more than ordinarily prolonged and hectic, the students marching from hall to hall, pausing in front of each for songs or cheers or both, and finally winding up in front of the Principal’s residence. In the dormitories, non-participants—squad members almost without exception—leaned from open windows and looked and hearkened with varying emotions. In 21 Upton, Bert and Chick and Dutch Kruger foregathered at the casement and watched the ragged procession moving across the sward from Haylow to the little mansard-roofed house that stood by itself on the south edge of the campus. They were singing “Gray-and-Gold,” and heard at that distance it sounded rather impressive, rather stirring.
“Gray-and-Gold! Gray-and-Gold!
Let your colors brave unfold,
Wave away, bring dismay
To the foe we meet to-day.
March along, brave and strong,
Alton comes with cheer and song.
Naught can hold ’gainst courage bold!
Rah! Hurrah! for the Gray-and-Gold!”
The song ended and the cheering began. The dark mass spread fan-shaped in front of the house. A light appeared in the hall. The cheering subsided. “Can you hear him?” whispered Dutch. Chick shook his head. “No. Just a word now and then. Not missing much, though, for Mac says the same thing every year!” “‘Self-sacrifice and devotion,’” murmured Bert. “I got that much.” The audience broke into a long “A-a-aye!” of applause, was silent again. Chick yawned and drew away from the window. “He’s good for another ten minutes, fellows.” “Well, I’m not,” said Bert. Dutch held up his hand and waved an imaginary megaphone. “Now, fellows!” he cried earnestly, aping a cheer leader. “Three long sneers for Kenly! Every one into it! All together and let’s go!” The imaginary megaphone was tossed aside, Dutch threw up his arms, bent sideways, twiddled his fingers and swung his hands in an arc as he straightened his body.
“Sni-i-if! Sni-i-if! Sni-i-if! Ken-le-e-ey!”
“Rotten!” scolded Dutch, shaking a fist in their faces. “They couldn’t hear that across the field! Try it again and make it good, fellows! Come on!”