The song was hushed when again the operator appeared and handed another slip to the leader.  Glancing quickly at it the senior read aloud: 

“Ball on Alden’s twenty-five yard line.  Great run by Thomas.  Hawley playing star game.”

Hawley, Thomas, and the captain of the team, and then the team itself, were cheered, and once more the group of students gave vent to their feelings in a noisy song.  It was all stimulating and interesting, and Will Phelps was so keenly alive to all that was occurring, that for the time even his disappointment in not being able to accompany the team was forgotten.

A groan followed the reading of the next dispatch.  “Alden’s ball on a fumble.  Steadily forcing Winthrop line back by superior weight.  Ball on Winthrop’s forty-yard line.”

“That looks bad,” said Will’s tutor, who had now joined the assembly and was standing beside Will Phelps.  “We’ve a quick team, but I’m afraid of Alden’s weight.  They’ve two or three men who ought not to be permitted to play, anyway.”

“Professionals?” inquired Will.

“Yes, or worse.”

“Have we any on our team?”

“Hardly,” laughed the senior.  But Will was thinking of the conversation he had had with Hawley when they had first entered college, and was silent.  Besides, another dispatch was about to be read and he was eager to hear.

“Ball on Winthrop’s five-yard line.  Hawley injured and out of the game.”

“Too much beef,” muttered the reader disconsolately, and the silence in the assembly was eloquent of feelings that could not be expressed.

Less than the regular interval had elapsed when another yellow slip was handed to the reader, and the suspense in the crowd was almost painful.  The very silence and the glances that were given were all indicative of the fear that now possessed every heart.

“Alden makes touchdown.  No goal,” read the leader.

“Six nothing!  Team’s no good this year, anyway!” declared one of the students angrily.  “Had no business to play Alden, anyway!  Ought to have games with teams in our class.”

“Alden seemed to be in our class last year, or rather she didn’t,” said the reader quietly.  “Remember what the score was?”

“No.  What was it?”

“Twenty-four to nothing in our favor.  If they win this year it will be only following out the regulation see-saw that’s been going on for seven years.  Neither college has won its game for two successive years.”

“Alden will win this time all right enough.”

“Perhaps.  The game isn’t ended yet.  You haven’t learned the Winthrop spirit yet, which is never to give up till the game is played clear through to the end.  You’ve got something to learn yet.”  The rebuked student did not reply, but the expression upon his face betrayed the fact that he was still unconvinced, and that he did indeed have the first of all lessons taught at Winthrop yet to learn.