There had been only light practice that afternoon, but on Tuesday Brooks held their noses to the grindstone with a vengeance. He had decided to discard two plays which had been tried and found wanting and to substitute two others which, he believed, were more likely to succeed against Hall. Besides this, several of the players were sent back to the dummy for some needed eleventh-hour instruction in tackling, and the effort to perfect team-play went on unceasingly. The weather turned suddenly cold Tuesday night and when Wednesday dawned there was a heavy white frost on the ground. After breakfast that morning Cal found Sandy standing in the Tomb gazing at the wall over the mantel.
“I was looking for a place to hang the Silver Shield,” Sandy explained, “that is, if we get it.”
“Do you mean,” Cal asked, “that it will come here to West House if we win it?” Sandy nodded.
“Yes, East House had it last time we won and now it’s our turn. I guess I’d get Marm to take down that picture there. I never did like it, anyway. Maybe she’d let you have it for your room, Cal.”
“Thanks,” Cal laughed. “That’s thoughtful of you, Sandy. I’ll take it, though, if it’s to make room for the shield.”
If Oak Park had been football-mad before, it was hopelessly and violently afflicted with the mania this final week. Excitement succeeded excitement. Now rumor had it that Pete Grow was very ill with tonsilitis or something and wouldn’t be able to play. Now it was said that Andy Westlake, the House Team center, was in trouble over studies and had a week’s work to make up. Another day Will M’Crae had sprained his ankle, if reports were to be credited. As it happened none of these direful things had really taken place, but the news of them served to add frenzy to the excitement. The nearest approach to a catastrophe affecting either team came when Barnes, a substitute back for Hall, hurt his knee in practice on Wednesday and said farewell to football for the rest of the season. But Barnes was hardly necessary to Hall’s success and so his accident didn’t create the commotion it might have. Even Molly became hysterical and talked football whenever she could find someone to listen to her. She spent several days making a House flag. She could easily have bought one in the village but she preferred to fashion it herself. It was of white silk with a red W. H. on it. She worked madly, but on Thursday it looked very much as though the flag would be still unfinished when the game began on Saturday.
“It’s a perfectly lovely affair,” said Spud when she exhibited it to him that noon, “but [why does the W look so rakish?]”
“It doesn’t, does it?” she asked anxiously, holding the banner at arm’s length and observing it critically. “Well, maybe it is a little crooked. But the H is all right, Spud?”