"Rah! rah! rah!" they mimicked, whereupon the cry was answered by a hundred throats as the doors belched forth the football players and their friends. Out they came, tumbling, pushing, jostling; greeting scowls and smiles with grins of insolent good-humor. In their hands were decorated walking-sticks and flags, ragged and tattered as if from long use in a heavy gale. Dignified old gentlemen dived among them in pursuit of top-hats; hysterical matrons hustled daughters into carriages and slammed the doors. "Wuxtry! Wuxtry!" shrilled the newsboys. "Full account of the big game!" A youth with a ridiculous little hat and heliotrope socks dashed into the street, where, facing the crowd, he led a battle song of his university. Policemen set their shoulders to the mob, but, though they met with no open resistance, they might as well have tried to dislodge a thicket of saplings. To-night football was king. Out through the crowd came a score of deep-chested young men moving together as if to resist an attack, whereupon a mighty roar went up. The cheer-leader increased his antics, and the barking yell changed to a measured chant, to the time of which the army marched down the street until the twenty athletes dodged in through the revolving doors of a cafe, leaving Broadway rocking with the tumult. All the city was football-mad, it seemed, for no sooner had the new-comers entered the restaurant than the diners rose to wave napkins or to cheer. Men stepped upon chairs and craned for a better sight of them; women raised their voices in eager questioning. A gentleman in evening dress pointed out the leader of the squad to his companions, explaining: "That is Anthony--the big chap. He's Darwin K. Anthony's son. You've heard about the Anthony bill at Albany?" "Yes, and I saw this fellow play football four years ago. Say! That was a game." "He's a worthless sort of chap, isn't he?" remarked one of the women, when the squad had disappeared up the stairs. "Just a rich man's son, that's all. But he certainly could play football." "Didn't I read that he had been sent to jail recently?" "No doubt. He was given thirty days." "What! in PRISON?" questioned another, in a shocked voice. "Only for speeding. It was his third offence, and his father let him take his medicine." "How cruel!" "Old man Anthony doesn't care for this sort of thing. He's right, too. All this young fellow is good for is to spend money." Up in the banquet-hall, however, it was evident that Kirk Anthony was more highly esteemed by his mates than by the public at large. He was their hero, in fact, and in a way he deserved it. For three years before his graduation he had been the heart and sinew of the university team, and for the four years following he had coached them, preferring the life of an athletic trainer to the career his father had offered him. And he had done his chosen work well.