Thursday afternoon saw a slight let-up on the field. Preliminary work was lighter and so much time was spent on signal drill that there was only enough daylight left for one scrimmage period. That, however, went to fifteen minutes. Coach Cade used all his second-string players before the fracas was over, which means that both Bert and Keys served as right, or Number 2, half-back. Chick, also, saw service and did better than he had done before that week. The Second Team stuck to what they fondly believed were Kenly formations and plays and, while these went fairly well in midfield they petered out nearer the goal line. Second got a nice placement kick over, but failed to score a touchdown. First, using a more diversified attack than it had shown all season, twice crossed the adversary’s line. There were several forward-passes that went smoothly for short gains, two of them received by Chick; one long heave, Galvin to Kruger, that was good for twenty-two yards; some well-placed punts by Nip Storer and some good gains by the backs. The most startling performance by the First, however, was an end-around play featuring Fitz Savell. Fitz shot outside left end and reeled off thirty-four yards before he was stopped by the Scrub’s safety man. Bert made two gains of seven and eleven yards respectively on off-tackle plays and once made a shorter though timely romp to a first down outside end. Galvin and Storer first, and then Ness and Couch, accounted for many advances through the line. On the whole the First showed power, speed and smoothness of execution; although it must be confessed that Bus Lovell, who followed Ted as general, had much difficulty with his signals and slowed up the playing considerably on occasions. What Bus did not do, however, was fumble!
There was a cheer meeting that evening in Assembly Hall—there had been two or three previously—and Bert and Chick joined the throng and sang and shouted as heartily as any. Mr. Fowler, the English instructor and head of the Faculty Committee on Athletics, addressed the meeting and kept it laughing for twenty minutes. (“Gee,” murmured Chick, “why can’t he be like this in class?”) Mr. Cade said a few words and was followed by Captain Jonas Lowe. Jonas was just as much at home on a platform, just as much at ease addressing an audience, as a cow on a tight-rope. He arose in painful embarrassment and lurched to the front with the enthusiasm of a malefactor approaching the electric chair. Then he put his large hands in the pockets of his capacious trousers, cleared his throat and took his hands out again. By that time the applause had dwindled to comparative silence, a silence punctured by chuckles and snickers of amusement. Jonas clasped his hands tightly behind him, rocked backward on his heels and frowned furiously. Then he spoke. Fearful, perhaps, that he wouldn’t make himself heard, he opened his remarks in a voice that, as husky as it was, might easily have been heard on the far side of Haylow Hall.
“Fellows! And gentlemen! You know why you’re here—why I’m here. I’ve got to say something about the Team and about licking Kenly Hall. Well, that’s all right. We’ll do it. [Enthusiastic applause mingled with laughter.] We’ll lick Kenly. We’ve got a pretty good bunch this year and—and we’ve been well coached. Mr. Cade is a great guy. [More applause.] Of course Kenly’s got a pretty good bunch, too. That’s what they tell us, anyway. But we’ve got a pretty good—I mean, our team’s all right, too. Got a good, strong line and a bunch of clever backs. Fellows like Jim Galvin and Nip Storer and—and others. Got a center you can’t beat, Lum Patten. Lum’s a great guy. [Cheers and laughter.] Got a pair of fine tackles. Got good ends. Got some corking plays. And we’re all fit. Got to thank Jake for that. Jake’s a great trainer. [Cheers for Jake.] So we’re all set, like I told you, to play the best game we know how, and if Kenly beats us it’s going to be a big surprise to them, I guess. It will be to me, anyway. But she won’t do it. You guys—you fellows do your part and we’ll do ours. That’s fair enough. Got to have the support of the School. Got to know we have it. Helps a lot. Plenty of cheering, you know. Everybody in line for a victory. That’s the idea. All together in the right spirit. Lots of it, too. Well, that’s all. We’ve got a pretty good bunch and we’ll do the best we know how. Much obliged.”
Jonas, perspiring freely, retired to his seat amidst loud acclaim and Freeman Naughton called for “a cheer for Captain Lowe, fellows, and make it good!” After that they sang a few more songs, cheered the Team vociferously and departed.
Bert and Chick joined forces with “Judge” Anstruther, Billy Haines and Hank Howard and wandered into Upton and up to the assistant manager’s room. Judge could do weird and wonderful things on a strange looking contraption that was about half-way between a guitar and a mandolin—with leanings toward several other instruments—and they had a musical evening. Hank Howard proclaimed his ability to play beautifully on a harmonica and Billy Haines disappeared and returned with one a minute or two later. After that, although Billy knew almost none of the tunes that Judge knew, the program took on an added interest. About the only thing the two performers could thoroughly get together on was that ribald composition, “Oh, Doctor!” This was a rimed insult set to music which Alton had once sung at the football games with Kenly. Of late it had become taboo, however, and when it sometimes threatened to break out it was quickly suppressed by the cheer leaders. On such occasions as this, though, “Oh, Doctor!” might be sung to the heart’s content without frantic “shushings.” So with Judge Anstruther beating the strings of his exotic instrument and Billy swaying ecstatically with his hands cupped about the borrowed harmonica the others sang loudly:
“Oh, Doctor! Oh, Doctor, now won’t you hurry, pray?
There’s been a crime most awful committed down our way!
Pull on your breeches, grab your bag,
Drop the shafts on the old gray nag
And hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, Doctor!
“Oh, Doctor! Oh, Doctor, and will the patient live?
He’s twisted, and he’s busted, he’s riddled like a sieve!
His center’s in a frightful shape;
I guess you’ll have to operate!
Oh, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, Doctor!
“Oh, Doctor! Oh, Doctor, the pearly gates we view!
They’re open very wide now! Oh, can’t you pull him through?
Old Kenly’s bad and getting worse;
Inform the sexton, send the hearse!
Oh, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, Doctor!”
By the end of the first verse reënforcements had appeared from neighboring rooms, and when the song had been concluded the applause was so hearty and insistent that the musicians had to begin again. As the room was now filled to capacity the encore completely drowned the music. A rumor that Mr. Offerman was on his way upstairs finally reduced the chorus to its original number and sent Judge Anstruther into the gentle strains of an Hawaiian melody. Mr. Offerman, however, didn’t materialize and the party broke up in a disappointed mood.
The weather, which had been on the whole particularly obnoxious for a fortnight, changed during Thursday night, and when Friday dawned the world was drenched in a gray mist, the air was balmy and one rather expected to hear bluebirds cheeping or cawing or whatever it is that bluebirds do. Chill, cloudy days, cold, blustery days were no more for the while and Indian summer had returned from over the purple hills. By the time breakfast was over the haze had vanished under the warmth of an ardent sun and brick walks and stone walls were steaming gently. Groups of boys crowded the dormitory steps, windows were open, with curtains aflutter, and the campus grass seemed to have grown a full shade greener under its sere and yellow tips. Of course no one wanted to do any work. That’s the trouble with such days. A fellow just wants to stick his hands deep into his pockets and lean against something—if he can’t sit down—and think long and lazy thoughts, thoughts on any subject save study and recitations and English themes due at noon and letters postponed since Sunday. It’s an effort even to yawn!