Over in assembly hall, Doctor Wyndham finished his speech by reading a letter from Coach Otis. It was only a few lines in length, predicting a Wyndham victory and counseling the School to stand firm behind the Team and show its faith. There were cheers for the Principal and for the absent coach and a big, long cheer for Wyndham, and then the meeting stampeded through the doors and down the hall and formed again outside and became quite mad. Clif and Tom, up in Number 17, stopped their talk and listened.
“Rah, rah, rah! Drayton!”
“Rah, rah, rah! Cotter!”
On they went, through the long list. “Rah, rah, rah! Kemble!” Clif grinned nervously. He was afraid they would cheer him and afraid they wouldn’t. They did, at last. And they ended up with “Wink” Coles. After that there was a moment of confused shouting and then came a long cheer for the Team. Subsequently a strident voice began “Whoop It Up” and every one down there joined in and the bravely rollicking strains drowned Tom’s statement that it was close to half-past and he guessed he’d better hit the hay. He waited until the song was over, humming the words softly, and then nodded and closed the door behind him. Alone, Clif sat for several minutes where Tom had left him while the sounds below quieted and died away. Finally he began to undress and discovered to his surprise that his fingers were trembling so that they made hard work of the buttons!
Clif didn’t go to Cotterville with his father, although the latter appeared at Freeburg long before eleven o’clock. Trying hard to seem offhand and casual, Clif explained the circumstances, but he had to grin when Mr. Bingham jammed his thumb against the horn button and sent forth a strident wail that populated the steps of East and West Halls in something under three seconds.
“Well, well, well!” exclaimed Mr. Bingham. “Gosh, son, that’s great news, isn’t it? Aren’t you mighty proud, eh? Hang it all, don’t stand there and make believe you’re not! I am, anyway. Yes, sir!”
Toot, to-o-o-ot! went the horn.
“Gee, dad, don’t!” begged Clif. “The fellows’ll think—”
“What if they do?” laughed his father. “I want them to!”
Mr. Bingham took Walter Treat and three other boys of Walt’s choosing over to Cotterville, while Clif traveled in one of the three big busses that rolled away at twelve to the cheering of their companions, massed in front of West. Loring, declining Mr. Babcock’s offer of transportation, was one of many youths who made the trip by auto in company with parents or friends. Loring rode between his father and mother, and Wattles sat with the chauffeur, who, to Wattles’s disgust, knew no football save soccer. Wattles had a thoroughly pleasant ride, and by the time Cotterville was reached the chauffeur had become vastly better informed on one subject at least.