“But what about this giant?” he wrinkled his brow. “How many of you really saw him?”
“I—I—I—sure! Sure we saw him,” came in a chorus.
“I think I might shed a little light on that. All of you get set for a lemon soda and I’ll entertain you with a yarn not one of you’ll believe.” It was Johnny who spoke.
While they drank their soda, Johnny told the story of Panther Eye, the giant, and the kidnapped girl, told it through to the end, or at least, as far as the story had gone. “Now,” he ended, “can you beat that?”
“Can’t even tie it,” the coach said solemnly.
“Well, boys,” the coach rose, “big day tomorrow. Time to start pounding your ears.” The team filed silently from the room.
Later that night Johnny received a strange visitor. The last freshman to drop in for a chocolate bar had left the door ajar. Since the evening was mild and the room was warm, Johnny had not troubled to close it. Instead he sat by the stove musing on many things. In his imagination he heard again the roar of a bear, the loud boom of an explosion, the roar of a thousand voices shouting for Hillcrest and victory.
“Victory,” he whispered. “Tomorrow’s the day. Will they win? And Kentucky, will he have a part in it?” In his mind’s eyes once more he saw them marching by, the team: Rabbit Jones, Tony Blazes, Stagger Weed, Punch Dickman, Artie Stark, Dynamite, Old Kentucky, and all the rest. What a fine bunch they were! And what a season it had been! His blood warmed at thought of it. “To be a little part of a big thing like Hillcrest College. Ah! That was something! It was—”
His thoughts broken short off, he sat there staring at the apparition that stood in the opening of the door. A girl, she was tall and gracefully slender. And how fair she was! Her hair seemed mere moonbeams, her face was like shimmering silk. Was she a ghost? Johnny started but did not move. He had met up with ghosts of a sort before and had found them harmless.
“Pardon me,” the girl’s voice was low, musical. “Are you Johnny Thompson?”