The sound of the band was drowned, and not a strain of music could be heard. The musicians continued to play, but they might have saved their breath. The crowd knew well enough that the eleven would be on the smoker. That was the car in which the victors could disport themselves as hilariously as they pleased. The smoker began to discharge its passengers. Paul Pierson was the first to get off, and he was followed closely by a stream of Yale men. The general cheering had died down, but almost every man who stepped from the train was greeted in some peculiar manner. "What's the matter with Yale?" howled a voice. Then a thousand throats seemed to roar back: "She's all right! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! Yale!" Bruce Browning appeared. "Hey, Brownie!" cried some one on the platform. "How's your corns?" "Sore," answered the big fellow. "Strained 'em cheering for Yale." Bink Stubbs came forth riding astride Puss Parker's shoulders. Somewhere on the train he had captured a silk hat that was much too large for him, and it had dropped down over his head to his ears, which were lopped forward by the weight of it. In the hatband was stuck the short staff of a small flag. Bink had a horn, and he blew a hoarse blast the moment he was outside the car. "Where'd you get that horn?" called a voice. "This horn's nothing," returned the little fellow. "I've had about twenty horns besides this, and still my neck is dry." Four fellows came off the car, carrying a fifth. They held their caps in their hands, and were as mournful and sad-appearing as possible. The one who was carried had a big white placard on his breast. On the card were these words: "I bet a dime on Harvard, and dropped dead after the game!" It was not an easy thing to carry him down the steps, but the mournful-appearing bearers succeeded in doing the trick. Dismal Jones came forth from the car. He was holding a handkerchief to his eyes and pretending to weep. This brought a shout of delight, and some one yelled back: "Weep for poor old Harvard. She needs it." Then Capt. Forrest of the eleven appeared. A mighty roar went up the moment he was seen. It was a great shout of admiration and welcome. It brought a hot flush of satisfaction to his cheeks, and he stood bowing and smiling on the platform. "What's the matter with Forrest?" shrieked a voice, when the noise lulled somewhat. "He's a lulu!" shrieked another voice. "He's all right--he is!" roared the crowd. Then they cheered for him in the regular manner. Each player was received with an ovation as he came out of the car, and they must have felt themselves well repaid for their weeks of hard training and practice. Frank Merriwell was nearly the last one to show himself. The crowd had been waiting for him. What a shout went up! The torches flared, and it seemed that the very stars quivered with the volume of sound. "Merriwell! Merriwell! Merriwell!" roared the vast throng.