“I suppose you’d like me to tell you what I really think about our chances to win on Saturday. Well, I’m going to tell you even at the risk of making the team overconfident, which is something it can’t afford to be. I think we’re going to win, and win decisively!” Dick had to wait for the applause to subside then. “I don’t mean by that that we’ll pile up a big score, for I think the teams will be too evenly matched to score many times. But I do mean that when the battle is over there won’t be any doubt as to which is the better team. I’m not belittling the enemy. Springdale has a fine team, a team at least twenty-five per cent better than she had last year. You have only to study the results of the games she has played this season to realize that. But, on the other hand, we’ve got a fine team, too. Along——”
More cheering then, wild and continued.
“Along in the middle of the season I told you that our team was no more than an averagely good one, I think. It wasn’t—then. Now it is. It’s as good a team as ever represented the School, and that’s saying not a little when you recall some of the teams, which, although not very lately, have defeated Springdale by overwhelming scores. But good as it is, it’s got to play hard, play for all it’s worth, play like—like thunder! The Springdale line is a strong one. Few teams have made much impression on it this Fall. The Springdale backs are a fast and clever lot and have scoring power. The team has been finely coached and knows a lot of football. They have good punters over there, too; no better than ours, I think, but not to be despised. There’s one thing they haven’t got, fellows, and that’s a man to kick field-goals!”
Cheers and shouts of “Brent! Brent! A-ay, Brent!” broke into the discourse, and Morris, sitting in the front row, studied his scarred hands attentively and hid the look in his eyes.
“I want to prophesy, fellows,” continued Dick, “that if we get the ball inside the Springdale fifteen-yard line we’ll score!”
“I’m not saying how we’ll score,” he added with a smile when he could go on, “but we’ll score!”
Cheers and laughter mingled, and some one increased the latter by shouting: “Every little three-spot counts, old man!”
“I guess that’s all I have to say,” ended Dick. “You’ve got the team. All you’ve got to do is to be back of it every minute and let the other fellow see that you’re back of it. Don’t get the glooms if they score first. Keep on cheering. The game isn’t over till it’s won!”
The meeting gave itself over to riot for several minutes. Then the singing began again and finally, hoarse, jubilant, excited, the fellows made their way out of the hall and down the stairs to form in a procession outside the building and march cheering and singing through the quiet streets of Clearfield, acquainting the sleepy inhabitants with the fact that the team was “all right,” that Captain White was “all right,” that Coach Lovering was equally “all right” and that “So play as you may you can’t play better than he with a C. H. S. on his sweater!”