“Time to go. Are the cars pretty full, George?”
“Jammed! Looks as if all Springdale was here. They’re running extras through from the station, though, and I guess we can crowd on. All ready? Come on, then. Gee, but I wish this was over!”
By a quarter past two, when Springdale came on for practice, the stands were nearly filled. The Blue had a section to herself and it was ablossom with waving flags and small white-lettered megaphones. Dahl’s Silver Cornet Band, augmented for the occasion to the grand total of fourteen pieces, discoursed sweet—well, discoursed music; let us not be too particular as to the quality of it. Springdale was well represented, Clearfield was there in force. Dick had given tickets to Louise Brent and Mrs. Brent as well as to his sister and mother, and they were seated together in the front of the stand, Louise armed with a silken purple flag.
Five minutes after the Blue team appeared Clearfield’s warriors emerged from the dressing-room and, Lanny leading, trotted out to warm up. Mr. Newman, the Blue’s coach, crossed the gridiron and shook hands with Dick, and the two talked for a minute. Then Mr. Cochran appeared, and, presently the referee, Mr. Lothrop, joined the group. At each end of the field balls were arching over and under the cross-bars, Nelson Beaton and George Tupper trying their kicking feet for Clearfield and Sawtell and Norton for Springdale. Morris Brent, although he had trotted about for a minute with the first squad, had returned to the bench. At two minutes before the half-hour the teams returned to the side lines and Mr. Lothrop walked into the center of the gridiron with Lanny, while from across the field came Captain Torrey, of Springdale. The two leaders shook hands with each other and Torrey with the referee. Then a silver coin gleamed for a moment in the sunlight which since noon had been shining half-heartedly through the sullen clouds, three heads bent over it as it fell, Torrey’s hand waved toward the east goal and the little group broke up.
“All right, fellows!” called Lanny cheerfully as he came back to the bench. “We kick off from the west goal. On the run now!”
Blankets and sweaters were dropped and eleven purple-stockinged youths raced out to spread themselves across the field. Springdale arranged herself for the kick. A last cheer came from the stand and silence fell.
“All ready, Captain Torrey?” called the referee. “All ready, Captain White?”
The whistle sounded. Bert Cable, who had teed the ball to his liking, stepped forward and swung his foot and the game was on.