A few tiers below, the solicitous father caught sight of a fringe of gray beard appearing on either side of a round, fur-capped head. Here at last must be a kindred spirit, mourning with him this squandering of money, this waste of time, this wanton imperilling of young lives. But the fur cap revolved, and a merry, smiling face turned toward the seats above—the youngest, happiest, jolliest face in all the Seaton sections! Mr. Lindsay was discouraged. He lost hope of sympathy from this audience—more like Spaniards at a bull-fight than reasonable, civilized Americans. From the hill beyond came the sound of a low-pitched staccato chant, growing gradually clearer till from behind the red-steepled building emerged a dark, compact line of advancing boys. It was the Seaton school marching to a man to support their team. They came slowly on, four abreast, planting the left foot to each letter as they spelled the school name, chanting their way around the field to the cheering sections. It was the chant of conquerors,—strong, hopeful, revealing and inspiring confidence. Mr. Lindsay thawed a little under the warmth of the general enthusiasm as he watched these stanch followers crowd to their seats. “They evidently believe in their team,” he thought to himself, and he felt a natural touch of pride as he recalled the praises of Wolcott contained in those letters from Ware and Laughlin. The present scene threw a new light on their earnestness. Meantime on the Hillbury side the band appeared, with the whole contingent of Hillburyites trooping after. They pushed on to their seats in silence, leaving to the music a free hand; but once established, their cheers rang sharp and clear across the field. Mr. Lindsay watched with admiring interest the four distant cheer leaders swinging their batons with identical stroke, and ruling the three hundred voices as a conductor rules an orchestra. “They are better cheerers,” he was thinking,—the crowd across the field always seems to cheer the better,—“yes, they are certainly better cheerers, but our marching was more effective.” And while he was laughing softly to himself that he should thus identify himself with these youthful, misguided lunatics, a great roar rose about him at the sight of a score of strapping, brown-suited, red-legged wild men who came tumbling over the side ropes into the field. Here they divided, a knot of eleven following the ball in signal practice up the field, while the rest in red blankets and sweaters streamed across to the Seaton side-lines.