Then the Hillton players,
pale, dirty, half defeated, trotted lamely off the field and around the
corner of the stand to the little weather-beaten shed which served for
dressing room. And the blue-clad team trotted joyfully down to their
stage, and there, behind the canvas protections were rubbed down and
plastered up, and slapped on the back by their delighted coach
and trainer.
In the Hillton quarters life was less cheerful during the ten minutes of
intermission. After the fellows had rubbed and redressed, Remsen talked
for a minute or two. There was no scolding, and no signs of either
disappointment or discouragement. But he cautioned the team against
carelessness, predicted a tied score at the end of fifteen minutes, and
called for three-times-three for Hillton, which was given with reviving
enthusiasm. A moment later the team trotted back to the field.
"Touch her down,
Touch her down,
Touch her down again!
H-I-double-L-T-O-N!"
chanted the wearers of the crimson; and--"St. Eustace! St. Eustace! St.
Eustace!" shouted the visitors as they waved their bright blue banners
in air. The whistle piped merrily, the ball took its flight, and it was
now or never for old Hillton!
Stephen Remsen joined the string of substitutes and found a seat on the
big gray blanket which held Browne and Clausen. From there he followed
the progress of the game.
Outwardly he was as happy and contented, as cool and disinterested, as
one of the goal posts.
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