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The victory against Harvard at Cambridge was the team's worthy reward for faithful service and attention given to the details of the game. As a reward for service rendered, the second team with the Varsity substitutes were taken on the trip, and as we saw the great Princeton team winning, every man was happy and proud of the joy and knowledge of giving something material towards their winning.
Whereupon Team sought to persuade Marten with a club, who gave a soft answer by shooting a flint-headed arrow through Team's scalp-lock; and this friendship they continued for many days, passing their evenings in manufacturing missiles, and the mornings in sending them one at the other.
Hit something drive it somewhere. Remember Gridley can't and won't lose! Get the Gridley spirit soaked into you instanter. Chase that leather somewhere!" Gardiner's pitcher, his face beaming, faced Holmes, whom he did not regard as one of the team's heavyweights in batting skill. Visiting fans were rising, preparing to leave the stand. "Strike one!" "There he goes!" "Strike two!" "It's all over."
"Alden makes touchdown. No goal," read the leader. "Six nothing! Team's no good this year, anyway!" declared one of the students angrily. "Had no business to play Alden, anyway! Ought to have games with teams in our class." "Alden seemed to be in our class last year, or rather she didn't," said the reader quietly. "Remember what the score was?" "No. What was it?"
His anxiety somewhat relieved by this termination of the home team's batting streak, Roy Hooker looked around for Rackliff, and discovered Herbert coolly sauntering down beside the ropes toward first base.
Neither he nor his wife asked Tom inside or mentioned supper to him. The woman put it steaming on the table and Tom like the dog might stand and look on. At last the farmer was finished. "Guess the team's eat by now," he remarked, and came out with the lantern hung on his arm. All this time the dog had had "fits and starts" of wanting to get at Tom and eat him up.
Once all of the opposing team's players were off of the orange shirted Zard, all was silent and still as the referee held his hand aloft and began counting with his fingers. Everyone held their breathe and stood tensely by as they watched.
In some respects Chichester's fielding work was better than the home team's. It was undying grit that won the battle -that and Dave Darrin's pitching. As the jubilant home fans left the ball grounds it was the general opinion that Dave Darrin was only the merest shade behind Dick Prescott as a pitcher. "Either one of them in the box," said Coach Luce to a friend, "and the game is half won."
So I hold a broad chariot body is worse than unnecessary. More than that I maintain that the lower the axle is set, the less the team's strength goes into attaining speed.
Downing always turns out on Mid-term Service day. I say, do play." "Think of the rag." "But the team's full," said Mike. "The list isn't up yet. We'll nip across to Barnes' study, and make him alter it." They dashed out of the room. From down the passage Mike heard yells of "Barnes!" the closing of a door, and a murmur of excited conversation. Then footsteps returning down the passage.
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