CHAPTER XV

AT THE GREAT GAME

"Well, I thought I'd seen some excitement before," declared Betty Wales, struggling to settle herself more comfortably on the scant ten square inches of s.p.a.ce allotted her by the surging, swaying ma.s.s of girls behind. "But I was mistaken. Even the rally was nothing to this. Helen, do you feel as if they'd push you under the railing?"

"A little," laughed Helen, "but I don't suppose they could, do you?"

"I guess not," said Betty hopefully, "but they might break my spine.

They're actually sitting on me, and I haven't room to turn around and see who's doing it. Oh, but isn't it fun!"

The day of the great basket-ball game had come at last. A bare two hours more and the freshman team would either be celebrating its victory over the soph.o.m.ores, or bravely shouldering its defeat; and the college had turned out _en ma.s.se_ to witness the struggle. The floor of the gymnasium was cleared, only Miss Andrews, the gym teacher, her a.s.sistant line-keepers and the ushers in white duck, with paper hats of green or purple, being allowed on the field of battle. On the little stage at one end of the hall sat the faculty, most of them manifesting their partisanship by the display of cla.s.s-colors. The more popular supporters of the purple had been furnished with violets by their admirers, while the wearers of the green had American beauty roses--red being the junior color--tied with great bows of green ribbon. The prize exhibit was undoubtedly that of the enterprising young head of the chemistry department, who carried an enormous bunch of vivid green carnations; but the centre of interest was the president of the college, who of course displayed impartially the colors of both sides.

He divided interest with a sprightly little lady in a brilliant purple gown, whose arms were so full of violets and daffodils and purple and yellow ribbons that she looked like an animated flower bed. She smiled and nodded at the soph.o.m.ore gallery from behind their floral tributes; and the freshmen watched her eagerly and wished she had worn the green.

But of course she wouldn't; she had nothing but soph.o.m.ore lit., and all her cla.s.ses adored her.

In the gallery were the students, seniors and soph.o.m.ores on one side, juniors and freshmen on the other, packed in like sardines. The front row of them sat on the floor, dangling their feet over the edge of the balcony--they had been warned at the gym cla.s.ses of the day before to look to their soles and their skirt braids. The next row kneeled and peered over the shoulders of the first. The third row stood up and saw what it could. The others stood up and saw nothing, unless they were very tall or had been lucky enough to secure a place on a stray chair or a radiator. The balcony railings and posts were draped with bunting, and in every hand waved banners and streamers, purple and yellow on one side, red and green on the other.

In the middle of each side were grouped the best singers of the cla.s.ses, ready to lead the chorus in the songs which had been written for the occasion to the music of popular tunes. These were supposed to take the place of "yells," and cheers, both proscribed as verging upon the unwomanly. By rule the opposing factions sang in turn, but occasionally, quite by accident, both started at once, with deafening discords that rocked the gallery, and caused the musical head of the German Department to stop her ears in agony.

Most of the girls had been standing in line for an hour waiting for the gymnasium doors to open, but a few, like Betty and Helen, had had reserved seat tickets given them by some one on the teams. These admitted their fortunate holders by a back door ahead of the crowd. All the faculty seats were reserved, of course, and the occupants of them were still coming in. As each appeared, he or she was met by a group of ushers and escorted ceremoniously across the floor, amid vigorous hand-clapping from the side whose colors were in evidence, and the singing of a verse of "Balm of Gilead" adapted to the occasion. Most of these had been written beforehand and were now hastily "pa.s.sed along"

from a paper in the hands of the leader. The rhymes were execrable, but that did not matter since almost n.o.body could understand them; and the main point was to come out strong on the chorus.

"Oh, there's Miss Ferris!" cried Betty, "and she's wearing my ro--goodness, she's half covered with roses. Helen, see that lovely green dragon pennant!"

"Here's to our Miss Ferris, drink her down!"

sang the freshman chorus.

"Here's to our Miss Ferris, drink her down!

Here's to our Miss Ferris, may she never, never perish!

Drink her down, drink her down, drink her down, down, down!"

Back by the door there was a sudden commotion, and the soph.o.m.ore faction broke out into tumultuous applause as a tall and stately gentleman appeared carrying a "shower bouquet" of daffodils with a border and streamers of violets.

"Here's to Dr. Hinsdale, he's the finest man within hail!

Drink him down, drink him down, drink him down, down, down!"

sang the soph.o.m.ores.

"There is a team of great renown,"

began the freshmen l.u.s.tily. What did the soph.o.m.ores mean by clapping so?

Ah! Miss Andrews was opening a door.

"They're coming!" cried Betty eagerly.

"Only the soph.o.m.ore subs," amended the junior next to her. "So please don't stick your elbow into me."

"Excuse me," said Betty hastily. "Oh Helen, there's Katherine!"

Through the door at one side of the stage the freshman subs were coming, through the other the soph.o.m.ores. Out on the floor of the gym they ran, all in their dark blue gym suits with green or purple stripes on the right sleeves, tossing their b.a.l.l.s from hand to hand, throwing them into the baskets, bouncing them adroitly out of one another's reach, trying to appear as unconcerned as if a thousand people were not applauding them madly and singing songs about them and wondering which of them would get a chance to play in the great game. In a moment a little whistle blew and the subs found their places on the edge of the stage, where they sat in a restive, eager row, each girl in readiness to take the field the moment she should be needed.

The door of the soph.o.m.ore room opened again and the "real team" ran out.

Then the gallery shook indeed! Even the freshmen cheered when the mascot appeared hand in hand with the captain. He was a dashing little Indian brave in full panoply of war-paint, beads, and feathers, with fringed leggins and a real Navajo blanket. When he had finished his grand entry, which consisted of a war-dance, accompanied by ear-splitting war-whoops, he came to himself suddenly to find a thousand people staring at him, and he was somewhat appalled. He could not blush, for Mary Brooks had stained his face and neck a beautiful brick-red, and he lacked the courage to run away. So he waited, forlorn and uncomfortable, while the freshman team rushed in, circling gaily about a diminutive knight in shining silver armor, with a green plume. He marched proudly, but with some difficulty, for his helmet was down and his sword, which was much too long for him, had an unbecoming tendency to trip him up. When his hesitating steps had brought him to the middle of the gymnasium, the knight, apparently perceiving the Indian for the first time, dropped his enc.u.mbering sword and rushed at his rival with sudden vehemence and blood-curdling cries. The little Indian stared for a moment in blank amazement, then slipping off his blanket turned tail and ran, reaching the door long before his soph.o.m.ore supporters could stop him. The knight meanwhile, left in full possession of the field, waited for a moment until the laughter and applause had died away into curiosity. Then, deliberately reaching up one gauntleted hand, he pulled off his helmet, and disclosed the saucy, freckled face of the popular son of a favorite professor.

He grinned cheerfully at the stage and the gallery, gallantly faced the junior-freshman side, and waving his green plume aloft yelled, "Hip, hip, hurrah for the freshmen!" at the top of a pair of very strong lungs. Then he raced off to find the seat which had been the price of his performance between two of his devoted admirers on the sub team, while the gallery, regardless of meaningless prohibitions and forgetful of cla.s.s distinctions, cheered him to the echo.

All of a sudden a businesslike air began to pervade the floor of the gymnasium. Somebody picked up the knight's sword and the Indian's blanket, and Miss Andrews took her position under the gallery. The ushers crowded onto the steps of the stage, and the members of the teams, who had gathered around their captains for a last hurried conference, began to find their places.

"Oh, I almost wished they'd sing for a while more," sighed Betty.

"Do you?" answered Helen absently. She was leaning out over the iron bar of the railing with her eyes glued to the smallest freshman centre.

"Why?"

"Oh, it makes me feel so thrilled and the songs are so clever and amusing, and the mascots so funny."

"Oh, yes," agreed Helen. "The things here are all like that, but I want to see them play."

"You mean you want to see her play," corrected Betty merrily. "I don't believe you care for a single other thing but T. Reed. Where is she?"

Helen pointed her out proudly.

"Oh, what an awfully funny, thin little braid! Isn't she comical in her gym suit, anyway? You wouldn't think she could play at all, would you, she's so small."

"But she can," said Helen stoutly.

"Don't I know it? I guarded her once--that is, I tried to. She's a perfect wonder. See, there's Rachel up by our basket. Katherine says she's fine too. Helen, they're going to begin."

The a.s.sistant gym teacher had the whistle now. She blew it shrilly.

"Play!" called Miss Andrews, and tossed the ball out over the heads of the waiting centres. A tall soph.o.m.ore reached up confidently to grab it, but she found her hands empty. T. Reed had jumped at it and batted it off sidewise. Then she had slipped under Cornelia Thompson's famous "perpetual motion" elbow, and was on hand to capture the ball again when it bounced out from under a confused ma.s.s of homes and centres who were struggling over it on the freshman line. The freshmen clapped riotously.

The soph.o.m.ores looked at each other. Freshman teams were always rattled, and "m.u.f.fed" their plays just at first. What did this mean? Oh, well, the homes would miss it. They did, and the soph.o.m.ores breathed again, but only for a moment. Then T. Reed jumped and the ball went pounding back toward the freshman basket. This time a home got it, pa.s.sed it successfully to Rachel, and Rachel poised it for an instant and sent it cleanly into the basket.

The freshmen were shouting and thumping as if they had never heard that it was unlady-like (and incidentally too great a strain on the crowded gallery) to do so. Miss Andrews blew her whistle. "Either the game will stop or you must be less noisy," she commanded, and amid the ominous silence that followed she threw the ball.

This time T. Reed missed her jump, and the tall soph.o.m.ore got the ball and tossed it unerringly at Captain Marion Lawrence, who was playing home on her team. She bounded it off in an unexpected direction and then pa.s.sed it to a home nearer the basket, who on the second trial put it in. The soph.o.m.ores clapped, but the freshmen smiled serenely. Their home had done better, and they had T. Reed!

The next ball went off to one side. In the scramble after it two opposing centres grabbed it at once, and each claimed precedence. The game stopped while Miss Andrews and the line-men came up to hear the evidence. There was a breathless moment of indecision. Then Miss Andrews took the ball and tossed up between the two contestants. But neither of them got it. Instead, T. Reed, slipping in between them, jumped for it again, and quick as a flash sent it flying toward the freshman goal.

There was another breathless moment. Could Rachel Morrison put it in from that distance? No, it had fallen just short and the soph.o.m.ore guards were playing it along to the opposite end of the home s.p.a.ce, possibly intending to---- Ah! a stalwart soph.o.m.ore guard, bracing herself for the effort, had tossed it over the heads of the centres straight across the gymnasium, and Marion Lawrence had it and was working toward the basket, meanwhile playing the ball back to a red haired competent-looking girl whose gray eyes twinkled merrily as her thin, nervous hands closed unerringly and vice-like around the big sphere. It was in the basket, and the freshmen's faces fell.

"But maybe they've lost something on fouls," suggested Betty hopefully.

"And T. Reed is just splendid," added Helen.

Everybody was watching the gallant little centre now, but she watched only the ball. Back and forth, up and down the central field she followed it, slipping and sliding between the other players, now bringing the ball down with a phenomenal quick spring, now picking it up from the floor, now catching it on the fly. The soph.o.m.ore centres were beginning to understand her methods, but it was all they could do to frustrate her; they had no effort left for offensive tactics. Generally because of their superior practice and team play, the soph.o.m.ores win the inter-cla.s.s game, and they do it in the first half, when the frightened freshmen, overwhelmed by the terrors of their unaccustomed situation, let the goals mount up so fast that all they can hope to do in the second half is to lighten their defeat. What business had T. Reed to be so cool and collected? If she kept on, there was strong likelihood of a freshman victory. But she was so small, and Cornelia Thompson was guarding her--Cornelia stuck like a burr, and the "perpetual motion"

elbow had already circ.u.mvented T. Reed more than once.

After a long and stubborn battle, the freshmen scored another point. But in the next round the big soph.o.m.ore guard repeated her splendid 'crossboard play, and again Marion Lawrence caught the ball.