When the game was at an end—it was almost dark by then—the spectators marched back down William Street to the college, cheering and singing all the way. Jack, trotting over to the locker-house in the wake of the other players, heard from down the street the refrain arising splendidly to the summer sky:
“Purple is the color of the stalwart and the brave;
Purple are the banners that the conq’ring heroes wave;
Purple are the violets above the lonely grave
Of poor old Robinson!
Glory, glory to the Purple!
Glory, glory to the Purple!
Glory, glory to the Purple!
And down with Robinson!”
The enthusiasm didn’t cease until late at night. After dinner the fellows thronged the yard in front of Walton and the cheers and songs were gone through with again and again.
There was little work the following day for the players. Morning practise was omitted, and in the afternoon a little running and throwing to bases constituted the program. In the evening there was a reception to the nine and substitutes in Brown Hall, and again enthusiasm was rampant. The Glee Club sang, the college band played, the fellows cheered, the dean and Professor Nast and the coaches and Captain Joseph Perkins made speeches, and there was a grand hullabaloo until half past nine.
Jack bade good-by to Anthony that night, for the nine and substitutes were to go to Collegetown in the morning on a train that left at half past six. The supporters were to follow on a later train, but Anthony was not to be among them.
“I wish I were going,” he said, “but I just can’t afford it, Jack. But I’ll be down on the street in the afternoon, and while you’re knocking base runs and such things you’ll know that I’m flinging my cap for you here at home.”
“It’s little chance I’ve got,” said Jack sadly. “But I may get on for a while, Anthony. Anyhow, I wish you were going along.”
“So do I. Good night, Jack, and good luck to you and the nine and old Erskine. You’ll play, of course; they can’t win without you, Jack! Good night!”