students swung arm in arm in eccentric dance from side to side across the street.  Ladies with their escorts hurried along the sidewalks.  Carriages, bright with fluttering flags, rolled by.  Bicycles darted in and out, their riders throwing words of salutation over their shoulders to friends by the way.  In the windows along the route was displayed the bravery of blue banners.  A window in a college hall was piled high with great comfortable-looking pillows, each bearing a great challenging Y in white ribbon or embroidery.  And overhead the sky arched a broad blue expanse from horizon to horizon.

In this manner on some fair morning, centuries ago, did all Greece wend its way to the Stadium and the Games of Olympia.

In the hotel the lunch was over and that terrible age between it and the arrival of the coaches was dragging its weary length along.  Joel and Blair were standing by the window talking in voices that tried to be calm, cool and indifferent, but which were neither.

“They’re offering bets of ten to nine downstairs that Yates wins,” remarked Blair with elaborate composure.

“Are they?” responded Joel absent-mindedly, thinking the while of the signal for the second sequence.  “I thought the odds were even.”

“They were until the news about Chesney’s shoulder got about.”

“But there isn’t really anything the matter with his shoulder, is there?”

“No.  No one knows how the story got out.  Whipple was taking all he could get a while ago.”

“Some one wants to see you at the door, March,” called the trainer, and Joel found Outfield West, smiling and happy, waiting there.

“How are you?” he whispered.  “All right?  How are the rest?  Great Gobble, Joel, but these Yates Johnnies are so sure of winning that they can’t keep still!  There’s a rumor here in the lobby that Yates’s center is sick.  Know anything about it?” Joel shook his head.  “Well, I’ll see you out at the field.  We’re going out now; Cooke, and Caldwell, and some of the others.  So long, my valiant lad.  Keep a stiff upper lip and never say die, and all that, you know.  Adios!”

There was a cheer below, and Blair, at the window, announced the arrival of the conveyances.  Instantly the lethargy of a minute before was turned to excited bustle and confusion.  Pads and nose-guards, jerseys and coats, balls and satchels were seized and laid aside and grabbed up again.  Cries for missing apparel and paraphernalia were heard on every side, and only a loud, peremptory command to “Shut up!” from the head coach restored order and quietude.  Then the door was thrown open and down the narrow stairs they trooped, through the crowded lobby where friends hemmed them about, patting the broad backs, shouting words of cheer into their ears, and delaying them in their passage.