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Updated: May 12, 2025
"There never was and never will be again a town more highly favored by fortune than little old Chester," affirmed Steve Mullane, when he could make himself heard above all the wild clamor. "While the spirit is strong within us, fellows, let's give three cheers, first for Mr. Philip Adkins, the boys' best friend; and then another series for our own beloved Joe."
"Niver a wurrd of thim vulgar tongues do I know," said he. "Then how do you and the bishop get along?" "Shure," said Father Mullane, in the rich brogue which is, I imagine, something of an affectation, "an' what is the use of bein' educated for the church if we were not able to converse with ease an' fluency in iligant an' refined Latin?"
Jones, the left-end gasped, as he ran lightly along close beside Hemming, the right guard, who had also been a substitute catcher in the baseball days when Steve Mullane held out behind the bat like a stone wall. "I'd say it was a barn full of hay going up the flue," the other ventured. No doubt every fellow was hazarding some sort of guess.
"Wasn't it a grand sight, though, to see Steve Mullane carrying the pigskin oval across the line?" exclaimed Lucy Marsh, her eyes snapping in her delight. "Girls, after all, I've decided that I'll attend that barn dance Thanksgiving night out at the Badgeley Farm with Steve.
"Just as like as not some of those reckless kids with their bonfires have gone and done it!" ventured Steve Mullane, indignantly; "and now the people will begin to say how foolish it was to give up the town to this wild orgy of celebration, just because the boys of Chester won a game."
You needn't laugh, Steve Mullane, I tell you I saw it plainly right over yonder where that big clump of Canada thistles is growing. Course I'm not pretending to say it was a man, or yet a wolf, but it was something, and it sure did move!" Hugh was looking with more or less interest.
A great hall, which had probably originally been one of the vestibules of the palace, was occupied by the Knights of Columbus, the place being in charge of a khaki-clad priest, Father Mullane, of Johnstown, Pa., who twice daily dispensed true American hospitality, in the form of hot doughnuts and mugs of steaming coffee, to the blue-jackets from the American ships.
After a successful plunge Marshall lost the ball on downs. A punting duel followed, with the advantage slightly in favor of Marshall, though both Mullane and Jeffries managed to hold up their end with considerable honor. Then came a furious attack on the part of the locals that carried Chester well off its feet.
Of potation stories I could tell scores more, and the Tralee Club has seen enough whisky imbibed within its walls to drown all the members. A quaint character named Mullane was at one time steward, and decidedly astonished a member, who was a total abstainer, by charging him in his bill for three tumblers of punch. 'Well, explained Mullane, 'it's this way.
Such a wild howl as went up all over the field at this thrilling stage of the game! Mullane dared not look back over his shoulder. By mere instinct alone he understood just what was happening, and how from several quarters Marshall players were closing in on him. Perhaps he fancied he could even hear their panting just behind him. It must have nerved Steve as nothing else could have done.
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