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CHAPTER VIII.
THE GOLF TOURNAMENT.
It was Saturday afternoon. The day was bright and sunny, and in the
shelter of the grand stand on the campus, where the little east wind
could not rustle, it was comfortably warm. The grass still held much of
its summer verdancy, and the sky overhead was as deeply blue as on the
mildest spring day. After a week of dull or stormy weather yesterday and
to-day, with their fair skies, were as welcome as flowers in May, and
gladness and light-heartedness were in the very air.
On the gridiron Westvale Grammar School and Hillton Academy were trying
conclusions. On the grand stand all Hillton, academy and village, was
assembled, and here and there a bright dress or wrap indicated the
presence of a mother or sister in the throng. The Westvale team had
arrived, accompanied by a coterie of enthusiastic supporters, armed with
tin horns, maroon-colored banners, and mighty voices, which, with small
hopes of winning on the field, were resolved to accomplish a notable
victory of sound. On the side-line, with a dozen other substitutes whose
greatest desire was to be taken on the first eleven, sat Joel. Outfield
West was sprawled beside him with his caddie bag clutched to his breast,
and the two boys were discussing the game. West had arrived upon the
scene but a moment before.
"We'll beat them by about a dozen points, I guess," Joel was
prophesying. "They say the score was twenty to nothing last year, but
Remsen declares the first isn't nearly as far advanced as it was this
time last season.
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