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Clair gained only two yards. It was third down now, with five to go, and from both sides of the gridiron came the imploring shout of the rival "rooters." Brimfield chanted "Touchdown! Touchdown!" and Claflin hoarsely begged her warriors to "Hold 'em, Claflin! Hold 'em, Claflin!" And Claflin held them!
The crowd began to shout for her when Nancy came around the home stake now. Jennie Bruce led the freshmen rooters, and the volume of sound they made showed that there were few "dyed-in-the-wool" Montgomeryites, after all. Nancy Nelson, the single remaining freshman on the ice, was the hope of the class.
Then came the din of cheers that soared to the very clouds, it seemed, such was their intensity. Confusion reigned, with a whirling mass of Chester boys dancing around and hugging each other, while the faithful girl rooters broke out into frantic shrieks, waving their beloved school colors in riotous profusion.
Before the Sunrise rooters had time to cease rejoicing, however, the invincible quarterback was away again, and with two guards and a center on top of Burleigh, now the plucky runner broke across the Sunrise line, and a minute later missed a pretty goal. And the opposing bleachers counted five. The second half of the game was filled with a tense, fruitless strife.
The great universities have their "rooters" scattered all over the land, and the whole nation is interested in the Thames or Henley races and the Poughkeepsie regattas. There are intercollegiate tennis championships and chess tournaments, football contests between the leaders East and West, all-America teams, and even international rivalries.
"What's the matter?" "When will the freight be in?" "Merry Christmas!" So the crowd shouted. The songs were worn out, the yell-leaders were exhausted, and the rooters were hoarse. "Where's Vic Burleigh?" somebody called, and a chorus followed: "Burleigh! Burly! Burlee! Come home! Come home! Come home!" But Burleigh did not come.
Both teams had tea together and our rooters' chorus sang "Juanita," while old Professor Grubb got up, with rage printed all over his face in display type, and went home. He never went near the stadium again as long as he lived, I understand. It was a most successful occasion up to this point, but somehow college boys always overdo a thing.
It stood there on the board, glaring white letters and figures on black: GREENMOUNT 4 L. A. HIGH 0 At first Honor's own woe engulfed her utterly. For the first instant she wasn't even aware of Jimsy King, standing alone, his arms folded across his chest, staring down the field; of his men, wiping the mud out of their eyes and looking at him, looking to him; of the stunned rooters.
They were given a royal reception, for there were many hundreds of Harmony rooters on hand to help the boys with cheers and the waving of flags and pennants. Besides, Chester was showing a fine spirit that could applaud a clever play, even on the part of the enemy team, though naturally their best yells would be reserved for the home boys.
Of course it was not like a varsity championship contest, but the Princeton nine had brought along some "rooters" and there were songs and cheers from the rival colleges. "Play ball!" called the umpire, and Andy took his place behind the rubber, while Dunk went to the mound. The two chums felt not a little nervous, for this was their first real college contest, and the result meant much for them.
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