“Perhaps I’d better say ‘Amen’ and sit down, too,” he went on, when the laughter had ceased; “but before I do I’d like to assure you that I am ‘rooting’ just as hard as any of you for a victory the day after to-morrow. My duties will not allow me to see the team in action, as much as I’d like to, but I am kept well informed of its progress. I have my scouts at work constantly. Mr. Pennington reports to me on the work of the linemen; Mr. Barrett advises me each day as to the backs; Mr. Wells is my authority on—er—stratagem.”
This amused his hearers intensely, since none of the three instructors mentioned had ever been known to attend a game or watch a practice.
“And,” continued the principal, when he could, “I follow the newspaper reports of our enemy’s progress. Of course, I don’t believe all I read. If I did I’d be certain that only overwhelming disaster awaited us on Saturday. But there is one thing that troubles me. I read recently that the Farview center is a very large youth, weighing, if I am not mistaken, some one hundred and seventy pounds. While mere weight and brawn are not everything, I yet tremble to consider what may happen to the slight, atomic youth who will oppose him. Young gentlemen, I shudder when I dwell on that unequal meeting, that impending battle of David and Goliath!”
When the new burst of laughter had subsided, the doctor continued more soberly: “I wish the team all success, a notable victory. Or, if the gods of battle will it otherwise, I wish it the manly grace to accept defeat smilingly and undismayed. I am certain of one thing, boys, which is that, whether fortune favors the Dark Blue or the Maroon and White, the contest will be hard fought and clean, and bring honor alike to the victor and vanquished. You have my heartiest good wishes. And”—the doctor took the hand of Miss Tabitha, who had been standing a few steps behind him—“and the heartiest good wishes of another, who, while not a close follower of your sports, has a warm spot in her heart for each and every one of you, and who is as firmly convinced as I am of the invincibility of the Dark Blue!”
“Three cheers for Tab—for Miss Hillman!” cried a voice; and, at first a trifle ragged with laughter, the cheers rang forth heartily. Then came another cheer for the doctor and a rousing one for “Hillman’s! Hillman’s!! HILLMAN’S!!!” And the little throng, laughing and chattering, dispersed to the dormitories.
Friday saw but a light practice for the first team and a final appearance of the scrubs, who, cheered by the students, went through a few minutes of snappy signal work, and the waving sweaters and blankets dashed off to the field-house, their period of servitude at an end. For the first team there was a long blackboard drill in the gymnasium after supper, and Ned, who, somewhat to his surprise and very much to his gratification, had been retained on the squad, returned to Number 16 at nine o’clock in a rather bemused condition of mind. Kewpie, who accompanied him, tried to cheer him up.
“It’ll be all right to-morrow, Nid,” he declared. “I know how you feel. Fact is, I wouldn’t know one signal from another if I got it this minute, and as for those sequences—” Words failed him. “But when you get on the field to-morrow it’ll all come back to you. It—it’s sort of psychological. A trick of memory and all that. You understand!”
“I don’t see why he needs to worry, anyhow,” observed Laurie, cruelly. “He won’t get a show in to-morrow’s game.”
Ned looked hopeful for a moment, then relapsed into dejection as Kewpie answered: “I’d like to bet you he will, Nod. I’d like to bet you that he’ll play a full period. You just watch Farview lay for Pope! Boy, they’re going to make hard weather for that lad! They were after him last year, but they couldn’t get him and he played right through. But I’d like to bet you that to-morrow they’ll have him out of it before the last quarter.”
“What do you mean?” asked Laurie, in surprise. “They don’t play that sort of a game, do they?”