CHAPTER XIV

AROUND THE BONFIRE

Well, Yardley had cause for rejoicing that day, and rejoice she did; she rejoiced all the way back to Wissining; she rejoiced all during supper and she continued to rejoice until long after she should have been in bed and asleep. It isn’t often that a school has two victories over her dearest rival in one day to celebrate, and Yardley realized the fact and made the most of the privilege. Supper was a noisy, riotous event, with Mr. Collins striving hard to maintain some degree of order without unnecessarily dampening the enthusiasm with which he was thoroughly in sympathy. Commons was cleared early in order that the team might hold its banquet. But, although driven from the dining room, the fellows didn’t go farther than the corridor, and when the members of the team appeared, one by one, they had to literally fight their way to the door through a seething throng of shouting enthusiasts. When they were all inside, players and substitutes, coachers and managers, and Andy Ryan, the doors were closed and locked, and after a final cheer that seemed to shake the very foundations of Whitson, the fellows piled out of the building, formed into procession and, shouting and singing, proceeded to follow a long-established custom and visit the faculty. From building to building they went and one after another the professors and instructors showed themselves at the windows of their rooms, or appeared at the doorways and made their little speeches of congratulation and were cheered. Even Mrs. Ponder, the matron, had to show herself and bow, while “Mr. McCarthy,” the janitor, got a full-sized cheer as the procession passed his lodgings in the basement of Oxford. Finally it was Dr. Hewitt’s turn and the fellows massed outside his windows and demanded audience. Presently the curtain went up in his study and the doctor raised the window.

“Rah, rah, rah, Hewitt!” was the greeting. The principal bowed and smiled and held up his hand for silence. “Old Toby,” as he was called, was getting well along in years and his voice didn’t travel very far.

“Young gentlemen,” he said, “I am very glad to learn of your victory――――”

“Two of them, doctor!” sung out an irrepressible youth at the back of the crowd.

“And glad to learn that the contest passed without injury to any of the players of either side and without regrettable incidents of any sort. The game of football, as you all know, is being much criticised these days and I wish to remind you that it is only by fair and gentlemanly methods of play that you can――ah――appease such criticism. I congratulate you heartily, and thank you. Good night.”

The doctor bowed again and disappeared to the accompaniment of a hearty cheer. Then the procession passed around to the front entrance of Oxford and broke ranks to await the appearance of the team. Joe Chambers, who had been appointed chief marshal of the evening’s proceedings, dispatched a messenger to the banquet to learn what progress was being made. He was back in a jiffy with the report that they were only half through, and Chambers addressed the meeting.

“Fellows, the team is only about halfway through dinner. After dinner they will elect a captain and that will take some time. I don’t believe they’ll be ready for an hour yet. Suppose we march down to the field now and get the bonfire started. Then when the team are ready they’ll join us there.”

“Bonfire! Bonfire! On to the field! Fall in there!”

So the procession formed again and marched down to the field where material for the fire had already been assembled. There were half a dozen nice kerosene barrels and plenty of wood gathered along the river. There were also some railroad ties, a portion of a foot bridge and a section of picket fence which, I fear, had not been so innocently procured. Willing hands massed the barrels and piled the miscellaneous material on top of the pyramid. Then Chambers applied the match and the flames leaped up.

“Ring! Ring!” was the cry. “Form a ring! Everyone join hands!”

In a minute some two hundred and forty rollicking youths were swinging around the fire in a huge circle, advancing, retreating, winding and twisting like a snake that had swallowed its tail, while to the starlit sky two hundred and forty voices arose in song.

“Oh, the wearin’ o’ the Green! Oh, the wearin’ o’ the Green! You can always tell a loser by the wearin’ o’ the Green! ’Twas the most distressful ruction that ever yet was seen When we walloped poor old Broadwood for the wearin’ o’ the Green!”

They sang it over and over, keeping time to their steps. Then the ring began to move faster and faster until at last it was whirling around the fire like a mammoth pin wheel, the long shadows of the leaping figures waving and dancing grotesquely behind them. The ring broke and met again, fellows fell and were dragged along willy-nilly until they found their feet, and all the time the white stars were informed that:

“You can always tell a loser by the wearin’ o’ the Green!”

Finally, tired and breathless, the fellows ceased their dancing, the fire was replenished and speeches were demanded. Joe Chambers was elevated to the shoulders of three of his comrades, and when he had found his breath told them that the day would live forever in the annals of Yardley Hall School, and the names of the heroes who had won glory for the Blue on the trampled field of battle would be for all time emblazoned upon the tablets of memory. Joe let himself out to the full limit of his oratorical powers and the audience laughed and cheered and called for more whenever he threatened to slip from his precarious seat or ran out of breath. And just when he was showing signs of real exhaustion the cry went up that the team was coming, and Joe was deposited unceremoniously on the ground while a great shout of welcome went up as the group of players and coachers came out of the darkness into the circle of the fire light.

“Who’s captain?” cried a small prep. But he was promptly sat upon, for it is the retiring captain’s privilege to announce the result of the election.

“This way!” shouted Joe Chambers. “Everyone over to the grand stand!” So everyone scuttled across the field, the members of the football team being caught up in the stampede as they hustled along. The light from the fire illumined the faces of the players dimly as they climbed the stand and stood somewhat sheepishly awaiting proceedings. The cheering came first, with Joe leading:

“Now, fellows, a regular cheer for Captain Loring, and make it good!”

Then: “Now, fellows, a regular cheer for Mr. Payson!”

Then: “A short cheer for Dickenson!”

And so it went, every player receiving his applause. Finally they cheered for Mr. Rogers, the assistant coach, for the management and for Andy Ryan, ending up in a long nine-times-three for Yardley. Then there was a call for “Loring! Loring! Speech!” Alf stepped to the front of the stand.

“Fellows, there isn’t much to say, I guess,” he began earnestly. “But I do want to thank you all for the way you’ve stood behind the team this year. You’ve been great to us. We spoke of that at dinner to-night, and every fellow on the team or connected with it agreed that the support you have given us has helped more than you know. We had our troubles in the middle of the season, but you didn’t lose faith in us because we were defeated. You kept up our courage, and to-day, when we went onto the field at Broadwood, everyone of us knew that you were right back of us. And that knowledge helped us to win.”

“A-a-ay!” murmured the audience.

“Now that the game is over,” Alf went on, “I’ll say frankly that few of us expected to win it. I didn’t, Mr. Payson didn’t. But we knew _you_ expected us to, and you saw the way the fellows played. I’m proud of having captained such a team. There wasn’t a man on it who didn’t work every minute from the first of the season until the final whistle this afternoon with just the one end in view of beating Broadwood. We’ve pulled together all the fall. Not a man has shirked, and the work wasn’t easy sometimes, either. I want to tell you that you had a mighty fine team this year!”

Loud agreement from the throng below.

“Now, as to next year. You’ll have the start of a good team, for only six of the fellows who started the game to-day graduate this spring. Then there’s a lot of good material on the Second team. And right here I want to thank the members of the Second for the way in which they worked with us. They got more hard knocks than glory, and they deserve a whole lot of praise. So, next year I don’t see any reason why you can’t have another celebration like this. There are some of us up here who won’t be on hand to see it, but we all wish you success, and you may be pretty sure that when the day of the Broadwood game comes none of us will be very far from a bulletin board. Now, I know you want to hear who it is that is to lead next year’s football team to victory. We have chosen him, and we did it on the first ballot. He’s a fellow who has fairly won the honor, not only on account of his playing both last year and this, but because on a certain occasion last fall, when certain defeat at the hands of Broadwood stared us in the face, he endeared himself to us all by an act of self-sacrifice that was finer than all the touchdowns ever made. Fellows, I call for a regular cheer for Captain Vinton!”