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The stands emptied themselves on the instant of their triumphant burden of shouting, cheering, singing Hilltonians, and the crimson banners waved and fluttered on to the field. Hillton had escaped defeat! But Fortune, now that she had turned her face toward the wearers of the Crimson, had further gifts to bestow.
Yes, my boy, there is a band, and it plays Washington Post, and Hail Columbia, and Hilltonians; and then it plays them all over again." "But I thought Mr. Remsen was not coming until Saturday?"
The crimson banners waved again, and Hillton voices once more took up the refrain of Hilltonians, while hope surged back into loyal hearts. "Five minutes to play," said Professor Beck. Gardiner nodded. "Time enough to win in," he answered. Decker crouched again, chanted his signal, and the Hillton full plunged at the blue-clad line. But only a yard resulted. "Signal!" cried the quarter.
Here's to the heart, or far or near, That loves the Flag of Hillton." Joel was not much of a singer, but his voice was good and he sang as though he meant it. Outfield sat unresponsive until the verse was nearly done; then he moved restlessly and waited for the chorus, and when it came joined in with the rest; and the strains of Hilltonians rang triumphantly through the building.
The shouting grows in volume, and the band changes its tune to "Hilltonians." Nearer and nearer they come, and then are swinging on to the field, leaping the rope, and throwing aside sweaters and coats. Big Greer is in the lead, good-natured and smiling. Then comes Whipple, then Warren, and the others are in a bunch Post, Christie, Fenton, Littlefield, Barnard, Turner, Cote, Wills. The St.
And Outfield, joining in the laugh at his own expense, was seized by Cooke and waltzed madly around the table, while the rest once more raised the strains of Hilltonians: "Hilltonians, Hilltonians, your crimson banner fling Unto the breeze, and 'neath its folds your anthem loudly sing! Hilltonians, Hilltonians, we stand to do or die, Beneath the flag, the crimson flag, that waves for victory!"
"'Hilltonians, Hilltonians, your crimson banner fling Unto the breeze, and 'neath its folds your anthem loudly sing! Hilltonians! Hilltonians! we stand to do or die, Beneath the flag, the crimson flag, that waves for victory!"
Then Joel caught sight of a gentleman in a neat suit of gray tweed descending the steps, and saw the pupils heave and push their ways toward him; and for a sight the arrival was hidden from view. Then the cheers for "Coach!" burst enthusiastically forth, the train was speeding from sight up the track, the band was playing Hilltonians, and the procession took up its march back to the Academy.
"Hilltonians, Hilltonians, your crimson banner fling Unto the breeze, and 'neath its folds your anthem loudly sing! Hilltonians, Hilltonians, our loyalty we'll prove Beneath the flag, the crimson flag, the bonny flag we love!" The Knights of the Sacred Order of Hullabalooloo signified their approval and demanded the next verse. And Joel sang it.
Four minutes later the whistle shrilled for the last time, and the horde of frantic Hilltonians flooded the field and, led by the band, bore their heroes in triumph back to the school. And, side by side, at the head of the procession, perched on the shoulders of cheering friends, swayed the two half-backs, Neil Fletcher and Paul Gale.
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