The song ended and the cheering began. The dark mass spread fan-shaped in front of the house. A light appeared in the hall. The cheering subsided. “Can you hear him?” whispered Dutch. Chick shook his head. “No. Just a word now and then. Not missing much, though, for Mac says the same thing every year!” “‘Self-sacrifice and devotion,’” murmured Bert. “I got that much.” The audience broke into a long “A-a-aye!” of applause, was silent again. Chick yawned and drew away from the window. “He’s good for another ten minutes, fellows.” “Well, I’m not,” said Bert. Dutch held up his hand and waved an imaginary megaphone. “Now, fellows!” he cried earnestly, aping a cheer leader. “Three long sneers for Kenly! Every one into it! All together and let’s _go_!” The imaginary megaphone was tossed aside, Dutch threw up his arms, bent sideways, twiddled his fingers and swung his hands in an arc as he straightened his body. “_Sni-i-if! Sni-i-if! Sni-i-if! Ken-le-e-ey!_” “Rotten!” scolded Dutch, shaking a fist in their faces. “They couldn’t hear that across the field! Try it again and make it good, fellows! _Come on!_” “Can’t,” laughed Chick. “I’ve bust my sniffer!” “Wait till I have a cold, Dutch,” said Bert. “Mac’s through. They’re cheering again.” He went back to the window. “_Doctor McPherson! Doctor McPherson! Doctor McPherson!_” Then Freeman Naughton’s voice in the moment of succeeding silence, and another cheer, loud and measured, ending with “Alton! _Alton!_ ALTON!” The throng dispersed then, came trailing back over the grass in ones and twos and larger groups, still singing, laughing, joyously noisy. “Sometimes,” remarked Dutch, leaning over Bert’s shoulder, “it seems to me the guys who get the most fun out of football are the ones who don’t play!” “You said a mouthful,” agreed Chick. There was a final session in the gymnasium Friday evening. Some thirty-five youths sat on the benches in front of the blackboard and three coaches faced them. There was a much graver note apparent to-night, the coaches spoke in lower tones, there was less mild horse-play amongst the fellows. Mr. Cade drew and figured with his chalk and asked questions, and now and then one or two of the players arose and walked or trotted in front of the benches in explanation of a point. There was no more drill, however, and only Mr. Cade made anything approaching a speech, and that didn’t bear much resemblance. After he had ended he held up a hand, anticipating Jim Galvin, who had sprung to his feet. “No cheering, fellows! Leave that for to-morrow. And see that you’ve something to cheer for! Every one straight to the dormitories now and get to bed before ten o’clock. Squad dismissed!”