THE great day dawned. It was Saturday, and a recitation day; but nobody would have known it. Studying was a side issue; the game was in everybody's mouth. All around the campus went hatless girls, with streamers of yellow or red, or bows fastened in their hair and standing out like immense donkeys' ears on each side. Porter windows and the Safford porch were appropriately decorated with a mixture of rival colors, each vying to be higher; banners of yellow crape paper with black numerals hung out of the dormer windows on the top floor of Brigham, where Freshmen lived. The best banners were down in the gymnasium. A red "tam" was put, like a liberty cap, on the tip end of the Porter flag-pole by some enterprising Sophomore; but the Freshmen had inveigled Mr. Dodge to hang out a great Freshman banner on the clock tower of Mary Lyon. And surely it was Freshman day, when even the sun hung golden streamers across the bare trees in the grove!
Fanny got up at the rising bell and began to dress, in spite of the supplications of Helen, who had now made up her mind that Fanny must not play. When Helen at last offered to help her dress, Fanny disdained the offer.
Fanny went to breakfast -- and ate nothing. She went merely to accustom her head to the noise, her eyes to seeing things, and her feet to walking at command.
At eleven o'clock the doctor came, and Fanny, who had braced herself for the interview, looked at her hopefully. But Dr. Doane shook her head. She knew Fanny's condition better than the girl herself did.
"It's no use," said the doctor. "You might as well make up your mind to it."
"Oh, Dr. Doane --" pleaded Fanny.
"No, impossible. Why, you couldn't stand on your feet for five minutes. And I'd never let you risk a relapse."
After the doctor was gone, Fanny was too exhausted to hold up a moment longer, and, weeping in desperation, dropped dizzily on her couch.
Noon came and lunch time, and with bated breath the rival classes discussed the condition of the teams and their relative chances. If the girls had been real, live sports, the odds would have been on the Sophomores. Only the Freshman class had faith in their team!
Then something happened, and that something shook even the stoutest-hearted Freshies. Word came around after lunch that Jennie MacArthur, the energetic Freshman guard, had sprained her ankle! It was as unbelievable as that the King of England had dropped dead! Details, details were called for: Jennie and Mary Spaulding thought they would go and limber up a little in the gymnasium during lunch. It was a gentle enough process; but accidentally one of them threw the ball among some bunting on the festooned running track. Jennie ran up to get it, suddenly made a misstep, and wrenched the tendons of her ankle horribly. That was all. Dr. Doane was now bathing and bandaging her inflamed foot.
There is a limiting point to all excitement, as there is a limiting point to everything. When a person's down -- 'way down -- you can't get him farther still to save you! The Freshmen had for days weighed their chances and found them wanting. When Fanny fell sick, she was discounted off, with now and then a slight uncertain rising of hope. That hope was still flickering, and made the balance go up to a more even beam. Then suddenly a kilogram weight was thrown in for the gram taken out.
The girls stared at each other blankly, exhausted. There was nothing to be done, and hopes of Fanny went with Jennie. Fanny had not appeared at lunch.
Half after four by the college clock. "Previous" students had gone for seats on the running track an hour ago. Later comers were streaming to the gymnasium doors from all the cardinal points. The campus looked like a Spanish flag, with the intermingling of red and yellow streamers, and banners carried on sticks. The Sophomores smiled confidently and patronizingly on their opponents. Their opponents stared back unenthusiastically. A sheep isn't hilarious going to the slaughter.
There was a gay scene in the gymnasium. The north side of the running track was occupied by the Sophomores and their Senior sympathizers; the south by the Freshmen and their Junior sisters. Red and yellow bunting hung on respective sides, festooned from the iron railings, with small 1907 and 1908 banners where the loops were caught up on the upright supports.
Every minute the running track was filling thicker and thicker. Lucky early comers sat or stood lined up against the rail; equally lucky ones sat on the floor in front of them, with their legs hanging down.
Not long after 4.30, Helen Thompson came with her baton, and her lieutenants with their batons. They all wore crisp white muslin dresses, with wide yellow sashes and yellow bows in their hair -- like daffodils in the first days of spring.
With a sharp rap from Helen's wand on the iron rail, the Freshmen commenced, hurling their great yell like a challenge at the Sophomores:
"Wah-hoo-wah!
Wah-hoo-wah!
One-Nine-O-Eight,
Hol-yoke! -- Rah!"
The Sophomores responded with a more classic yell -- an adaptation of the ancient frog chorus. Edith Brewster had purposely been chosen cheering leader, and her yells were aimed straight at her personal opponent.
"Girls," said Helen softly to her elbow neighbors, as the Sophomores cheered, "it all depends on you today. The team is looking to you for encouragement. They think they're dead beat, even before they try! Now, don't you believe it. Fanny and Jennie are out of it, but there are seven others just as good. They're shy; but it's up to you to show them what you think about it, and make the Sophomores grin for a different reason. Pass the word along. Now, show the Sophs how to sing 'Johnny Comes Marching Home'!"
The Sophomore yelling had hardly ceased, when Tommy rapped again on the railing, and with a wave of her arms started the singing. Out swung the lively song, which her own fertile brain had invented and her own young voice was now leading:
"'Tis 19-08 that's going to play,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
They'll toss up the ball and win the day,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Then give them cheer and hearty shout,
For they'll turn the basket inside out --
For 19-08 is on the field to-day!
For 19-08 is on the field to-day!"
"Next verse -- rip it out!"
"Our gallant team in proud array,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Will show the Sophomores how to play,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
They never saw a swifter game,
They'll think it was a cyclone came!
For 19-08 is on the field to-day!
For 19-08 is on the field to-day!"
The very swing of the thing put new life into the singers. The music trickled into their hearts like soft rains, and made the wilted courage fresh and crisp. They had hoped against hope; now, somehow, somehow they were going to win! Never mind what the Sophomores sang.
Songs were mixed after that, anyway. There was just a hullabaloo of singing and yelling, out of which emerged, during a lull, the Freshman reveille bugle call:
"They can't get it in,
They can't get it in,
The Freshman guards against them!
They can't get it in,
They can't get it in,
They can't get it in at all!"
The Sophomores hooted derisively at this presumption and sang back:
"Sit down, O Freshmen!
Sit down, O Freshmen!
Sit down, O Freshmen!
Go -- 'way -- back, Freshmen, and -- SIT -- DOWN!"
The taunt only brought those Freshmen who were sitting to their feet. Even those squatted crouching by the rail, extricated their legs from the bunting, sprang up, and hurled back:
"Oh, toss up the ball,
Goal-tender! Goal-tender!
And be sure to put it in!
And -- rush up, ye guards,
And soak 'em, and soak 'em,
So the Sophomores cannot win!"
In the midst of the deafening tumult, a Freshman clutched Helen's arm and cried into her ear:
"Fanny is down in the anteroom with the team. Gail Calder brought her. She is going to play! " "You don't mean it!" gasped Helen in terror. "Why, it will be the death of her!"
"That's what we tell her, but she insists. Gail Calder says she's all worked up ready to burst, and might just as well play. Not to play would be just as bad as to go in the game."
" Well, I don't see what can be done," said Helen, trying to think calmly. "Give her my blessing, Louise, and tell her to take care of herself. I can't come down just now."
Helen, flushed and excited with new hope, rapped on the railing; the Freshmen, eager to hear what was going on, were all attention.
" Never mind the Sophomores," cried out Helen. "Let them yell till they're tired! I want to tell you the best news ever! Fanny Wallace is going to play! She's down below now! Fanny is a brick! Nine Rah's for Wallace!"
Hardly able to contain themselves, a great cheer burst out from the girls:
"Rah-rah-rah!
Rah-rah-rah!
Rah-rah-rah!
Wallace! Wallace! Wallace! --
Oh, Fanny, you're a brick!"
The last line was suddenly added by a group at the bottom of the running track and caught up and repeated again and again! Flagging enthusiasm took fire, and the echoes of it were carried up to the rafters. Any interruption on the part of the So~phomores only augmented the noise and made it seem Freshman cheering. Basket-ball songs were dropped, and a steady fire of "Rah-rah-rah! Wallace!" was kept up, that deafened out everything else.
In the midst of it all, the Sophomore team came out upon the gymnasium floor -- a solid lot of girls in trim, red bloomer suits and red stockings, with 1907 in white felt letters across their chests. They carried their mascot -- a handsome white rooster belonging to Dr. Lyman, with a natural red comb and an immense, unnatural bow of red ribbon tied round his neck. Poor bird, when he was let down he did not crow! Frightened at the tumult above him, he scurried across the floor and hid his head in a corner of the stall bars. It was a bad omen, and the Freshmen shrieked with laughter.
The Freshman team followed from the anteroom. Small, undeveloped girls in black suits with yellow figures -- 1908 -- on their blouses and little '08's in the corners of their sailor collars. They certainly looked "swell." But they were timid for the moment. Even their little black cocker-spaniel mascot -- the pet dog of the philosophy professor -- which they led in, an immense yellow bow around his neck, looked up to the noise-producing gallery and shivered. He had the advantage of being fastened by a chain, else he, too, would have disgraced himself like the Sophomore rooster.
The Freshmen on the running track shouted delightedly at their team and mascot, and came out with:
"Oh, toss up the ball,
Goal-tender! Goal-tender!
And be sure to put it in!
And -- rush up, ye guards,
And soak 'em, and soak 'em,
So the Sophomores cannot win!
"Rah-rah-rah!
Rah-rah-rah!
Rah-rah-rah!
Wallace! Wallace! Wallace!
Oh, Fanny, you're a brick!"
For Fanny was there, supporting herself on the shoulder of Ruth Evans, one of the forwards. Everything looked queer to her unused eyes, after three days of bed, but her "forward" supporter whispered into her ear:
"We'll do the rough work, Fanny, and you make some of your tidy baskets!"
Fanny smiled to her roommate and friends shouting down at her, and waved to them. Suddenly on the tail of a 1907 yell, came the sweet mountain air which has ever since been an inspiration to "yellow" classes. This the Freshmen had reserved for the last moment :
"My heart is with the yellow,
The yellow, the yellow!
My heart is with the yellow,
The yellow!"
The team below them waved their hands and joined in, till the music, so different from the raucous yells and songs, rose up to the roof and out of the windows, mingling with the spring. The Sophomores caught up the tune and tried to sing "My heart is with the crimson"; but they were promptly stilled with a tumult of disapproval.
Then every noise died down. Excitement was on tiptoe and had no further appetite for singing. The teams were taking their positions for the first half.
The referee balanced the ball in her hands between the rival centers, and stood for a moment, whistle in mouth. Then up went the ball, and the whistle blew.
"Play ball!"
The Sophomore center hit the ball dexterously over her opponent's head and hurled it into the arms of a ready forward, who tossed it to the goal thrower, who tried for basket and lost the ball to the Freshman captain, Mabel Dutton. From hand to hand it went toward the Freshman goal, where it was lost, picked up again, got to the Sophomore center, who ambitiously essayed a basket from the center of the field, and lost by half an inch. A Freshman guard got the ball.
A groan came from the Sophomore side as the ball missed. The Freshmen were relieved and glad their guard caught it, and their nervous laughter showed it.
"They play too ambitiously," whispered Helen to a neighbor. "And they don't trust each other. Keep it up! Keep it up!"
For a moment there was silence from the running track. Criss-cross went the ball along the field, from hand to hand of the Freshman team. To the Sophomore supporters, it looked as if the Freshmen were playing bean bag, with no thought of scoring in their heads. Suddenly it got to Fanny Wallace, who, neat as a pin, put it in the basket.
A screech from the Freshmen side nearly raised the roof off the " gym." The half-alive goal thrower was really alive, then! The goal was made so easily and unexpectedly, that the Sophomores only gasped and thought they were dreaming.
A second lineup, and the whistle blew. This time the Sophomore center, Anna Walker, jumped up and clutched the ball in the air, and away it sped to the forward. In trying to catch it, the latter and her opponent collided and they both lost the ball, which rolled off the field, to be captured by Jennie MacArthur's substitute. Her opponent was pressing her dreadfully on the edge of the field, waving her arms like the six-armed giants of Jason, and making herself generally ridiculous. With a quick eye taking in the situation, the Freshman stooped, threw a low ball between her opponent's outspread legs, and into the hands of a waiting Freshman, without its ever touching the ground.
"Good! Good!" whispered the Freshman sympathizers under their breath. "Now get it in the basket again!"
The suddenness of the maneuver so surprised the Sophomore team, that the ball was at the Freshman goal before they awoke to the fact.
The ball was in Fanny's hands again, but Fanny was directly under the basket and terrifically menaced.
"Here, here!" whispered a Freshman forward, a tiny girl that must have weighed hardly a hundred pounds.
Out went the ball to her, then across to the other forward, back again to the small girl. Then up, up, up in the air and -- swish! through the basket.
Oh, it was too good! The Freshmen yelled with delight. The score was 4-0 in their favor! They hugged each other, while the Sophomores bit their lips and waited. The referee blew her whistle toward the Freshman side to hush the noise.
Once more the ball was started. The tall Sophomore again jumped and got the ball. With tremendous strength, she planked it over her head toward the basket -- swish!
It was now the Sophomores' turn to cheer -- such a cheer, as was a worthy reward for so great a stroke.
It was a brilliant play. It gave the Sophomores their first score, and they were delighted. The game was now beginning to go as it should. Such an easy goal! " Oh, Anna Walker, my beauty! Do it again!"
But Anna didn't, although she tried. Nevertheless, the whole Sophomore team were now waked up from their lethargy. They played like giants, and, being in general taller, played over the Freshmen's heads. The latter seemed dazed at the turn of luck and at the swiftness with which the ball was whirled about them, only occasionally getting into their hands. They were no better off than Fanny Wallace, who now at least was pretty steady, tbe excitement having buoyed her up. They went about aimlessly and bewildered, losing the ball, if they happened to get it, like butter fingers.
Gaining self-possession as the Freshmen lost it, the Sbphomores made two more goals; one thrown by their much-famed goal thrower, the other by one of the forwards.
Then the whistle blew to close the first half.
It was delightful how the Sophomores had climbed over the Freshmen in the score, which now stood 6-4 in 1907's favor. Their team were red and hot, but fresh; they could have gone on and made some more goals, if the whistle hadn't blown.
But the Freshman team were crestfallen and wilted. They crawled through the low window into the anteroom, where their mascot had stampeded when released a while ago.
"Oh," groaned Helen Thompson, climbing down over the back of the chair on which she had been standing when cheering. "The team are panic-stricken. I must go down there. Ethel Wilder, you take my place here and just make the girls rip it out! Sing for all you're worth, girls -- yell -- anything -- so long as you make a noise! Everything depends on you now! Just drill some hope into those panicky noddles down there!"
In the anteroom was the lack-courage team, hot and dirty and tired: sprawled on the floor with friends fanning them; sitting on the physical instructor's polished desk, swinging their legs and chewing gum or lemons. Helen looked round for her roommate, expecting to find her half dead. She was lying down on the lounge, sucking a lemon!
"My dear, my dear! " cried Helen, throwing herself on her knees beside the smiling Fanny. "You've come after all!"
"Of course I have, silly! Didn't I say I would?"
The roommates were in each other's arms. Never mind the lemon; that dropped down and rolled out of sight under the lounge.
"What do you think of the game, Tommy?" asked the Freshman captain.
"Great!" cried Helen. "Only you fellers lost all your spunk toward the end! What's the matter with you? Listen to those girls on the running track yelling like mad for you. Sure our hearts are with the yellow! Those Sophs are only two points ahead of you. Think of that, after all the bad luck you had all winter!"
Fanny was sitting up now, with her dusty and sticky "gym suit" against her roommate's spotless white dress. She gained freshness from just feeling Helen's arm around her, and the rest of them from simply looking at her confident face.
"Wh-what did you think of our playing, Helen?" they asked, crowding around her.
"It was great at first. You just played into each other's hands like machinery, till you lost your heads. Now let me tell you a secret: Those Sophs think they've got you now, because they're two ahead. Anna Walker is a peach, but she's too sure of herself and not of anybody else. She spoils the chances of her whole team by her individual playing. It's brilliant, but-- Now, you people must play as you did first. That was slick! And you got two goals!"
"But the Sophs simply walked around with us," said a Freshman.
"Don't let them!" burst out Helen. "You just watch the ball, not the Sophs! Get after that and do your own leading around. Oh, you guards! Aren't you ashamed to let them make three goals?"
"Oh, well," said one of the Freshmen friends, "our team will do better the next half."
"Sure they will! That's what I'm trying to tell them. Girls, you've got to beat, or the class will disown you! You only have to make two more goals, and keep the Sophs from making any more. Then our banner goes on the flagstaff in front of Mary Lyon! Just think of it -- 1908! Mr. Dodge showed us this morning how to put it up."
"That was too previous," laughed one of the team.
"Myra Eaton, go get under the desk with the mascot! Don't let me hear you squeal again! Why, the committee has the dandiest spread ready for you at Brigham to-night! All because they know you'll win! Listen -- the Sophomore team are going out there. Let's get out, too; our time must be up -- Listen --"
The Sophomore side were yelling:
"Six to four!
Six to four!
Six-six -- Sophomore!"
The team crowded out on the "gym" floor again. Freshmen waved to them and shouted frantically. Tommy was out there with them, her arm still around her roommate.
"Let's sing 'My heart is with the yellow'," she said to the team.
And the weak little song that rose up from the athletes delighted their sympathizers, even if it did make them laugh. They joined their strong chorus with them, and the "gym" resounded again:
"My heart is with the yellow,
The yellow, the yellow!
My heart is with the yellow,
The yellow!"
The floor was cleared for the second half, Helen went back to the running track. The teams took their new positions.
"Phew-ew!" went the whistle.
Up went the ball. Anna Walker had it, as Tommy had predicted. Her masterly hands sped it toward the goal. Missed. A Freshman guard bounced up and got it, threw it to the other guard, to the center, to the goal, where it was bungled by one of the forwards, who dropped it. It rolled to Fanny's feet, and, stooping for it, she got dizzy and fell down upon it.
But she held to it tenaciously. Rising up, menaced by her interferer, she threw it low down to one of the Freshman forwards. The interferer whirled about to follow the ball. Back it came to the now unguarded Fanny, who tumbled it into the basket.
Oh, it was too good to be true! The Freshmen shrieked with delight, and Helen shouted down: "Good work, Fanny! Good work!"
The score was even 6-6.
The ball was started again, This time the Freshman center got a lick at it, and hurled it toward her goal. But the forwards were unready, not expecting it, and it fell into Sophomore hands.
Back and forth it was bandied, now Sophomore ball, now Freshman, so fast that the watchers and players got dizzy following its movements. Then it fell harmlessly from greedy players' hands near the Sophomore goal. Anna Walker, their star and captain, darted for it, tumbling over it and bruising her elbows and knees. So excited and wild were both teams, that Anna was on her feet again, swung a throw over her head, and had the ball in the basket before anyone of them found it out! Only the shouts from the running track woke them up to wondering what had happened.
The score was 8-6.
It was the Freshmen's moment of feverish uncertainty. Surely their team was playing wonderfully, with more heart than in the previous half. Would they, oh, would they keep it up, or peter out again?
The ball was once more started. Anna Walker batted it toward the Sophomore goal with her hand. A Freshman stopped it, and passed it back to the other goal. People held their breath as they saw the ball neatly handed down. They were cold with excitement as they saw it going to the Freshman basket. But Fanny's interferer was too much awake now. She guarded Fanny so closely that none dared to throw the ball to her. A feint at doing just this thing on the part of Ruth Evans, a forward, threw the Sophomores suddenly toward the end center. Before they could recover, the ball was in the Freshman basket.
What a screeching and what a dancing there was! Freshmen hugged each other. For the score was now even 8. Certainly, no one would ever dare say derisive things about the Freshman basket-ball team again!
With difficulty the referee and umpires put a stop to the maniacal noise from the Freshman sympathizers. It seemed too good to be true! If only -- oh, if only! There were but two minutes more to play!
"Play ball!" came from the referee's whistle.
Anna Walker sprang up and caught the ball in her hands. She was desperate. She would not again trust the ball to another. With all her might she hurled it over her head, straight, straight to the basket. Ah! It hit the rim and bounded back. A Sophomore forward grappled with a Freshman for it. An umpire tossed it up between them. The Sophomore tried to catch it; the Freshman batted it away. Another Sophomore got it and hurled it again toward the goal. It smashed against the wire netting behind the goal, fell to the rim of the basket, spun around a few breathless moments, and then -- "Ah!" groaned the disappointed Sophomores -- dropped down outside the basket.
Mabel Dutton caught it like a flash, and hurled it to the Freshman unguarded center. Away it went toward the Freshman goal. A Sophomore got it.
"Ugh! if the whistle would only blow now and make it a tie!"
The Sophomores groaned because they were going to lose; the Freshmen because they could not win.
"Oh, Fanny! Fanny!" whispered Helen to herself, clutching the rail frantically, her eyes bulging, her lips white, her body cold -- afraid to breathe. "Oh, Fanny, if you love me, get the ball now and put it in the basket!" It seemed to her as though suggestion would do it.
For a moment the ball was bungled. Then it rolled on the floor away from the bunched-up group. Fanny darted from between their legs and grasped the ball. They were on her again in an instant -- the interferer, the Sophomore guards, everybody! Her back was to the goal.
There was hard breathing for a second. None dared to touch the ball in her hands.
"Ruth," she cried sharply, "go out and catch the ball when I throw it to you!"
It was only a feint, but the bunch thinned out. With a little cry, Fanny straightened and tossed the ball backward over her head -- back, back, back it went, while staring eyes followed it. Swish! Oh! It was in the basket!
In the triumphant screeching and shouting that followed, the timekeeper's whistle, telling that the game was over, could hardly be heard. The tenseness relaxed like a drawn bowstring. They could do nothing but dance about, unmindful of the referee telling the score:
"8-10 in favor of the Freshmen! 1908 has won the game!"
They had won! They had won! The team were overwhelmed by classmates streaming down upon the floor, and were carried bodily out on the shoulders of adoring Freshmen. They tore down a great I908 banner from the decorations of the running track, and wrapping it round the shoulders of the plucky Fanny, carried her down toward Mary Lyon.
There, around the steel flagpole on the left of the Administration Building, stood a waiting crowd. In a second, the yellow banner was taken from around Fanny Wallace -- somebody's long coat being substituted for it -- and fastened with two large safety pins to the ropes. Twenty hands had the honor of raising it up toward the gold ball at the top, amid deafening cheers. Echoes upon echoes greeted them on all sides; every song was sung and every yell yelled at the foot of that pole, and as the Mary Lyon clock, in a very businesslike way, boomed six overhead, the crowd turned about for home, with one more glance at the golden emblem swung out above them, singing:
"My heart is with the yellow,
The yellow, the yellow!
My heart is with the yellow,
The yellow!"