"Well, let 'em laugh. I reckon we're duck-backed enough to shed whole showers o' that kind o' stuff; and when the game comes off they'll find that what wins a game o' football ain't pants, nor hair, nor shoe-leather, but what's in and under 'em. They'll find _men's_ feet in those shoes, and _men's_ legs in those trousers, and the brains o' men under that hair! "For I tell you, we're goin' to win that game; and we're goin' to win it just because o' what gave us the hayseed an' the high-water and the boot-leather; because we've got on our side the men with muscle hardened on the old farm; men who've swung an axe from mornin' till night in the wood-lot, and cradled two acres of oats a day, and who'll go through 'em in a scrimmage like steers through standin' corn! "Yes, boys, it's true; we're 'hayseeds' and 'country jakes.' All the better for that. Grass don't grow down, and go where you will, you'll find the hayseed at the top. Why, what was he?"--he turned and extended a long arm and forefinger toward a picture of Daniel Webster that hung behind him on the wall of the room,--"what was he? A hayseed, and son of a hayseed!" Yes, there's a hayseed in our hair; Proud it's there! And our boots are big an' square; So they air! And when you hear 'em thunderin' On the Academic shin, Back them cowhide boots to win! Academs, beware! Hooray then for hayseed hair! It gits there! And for cowhides big and square; Every pair! And when you hear 'em thunderin' On the Academic shin, Back them cowhide boots to win! Academs, take care! * * * * * But the morning of the great day came with a broad, red sun rolling and tumbling in mist, which blew away with rising wind and let the sun in to dry the field. * * * * * And _we_ were the heroes; the great observed of all observers. We trod the earth with a large, heroic tread. I, the smallest, last, and youngest of the company, walked with the lordiest stride of all. The season long I had fought for a "place on the team," and I had won, and Annie was there to see. Never mind who Annie was. I am telling now about a football team. "Look at Banty, here," I heard a Normalite say, "captain o' the team, ain't he? Hull thing, an' dog under the wagon." Even Annie smiled, and just then my cousin Teddy came up. "What are you lookin' so red an' savage about?" says Teddy. "Achin' to jump into that Normal team," says I. Under the big oak Rob Mackenzie and Tom Powell, with the big fellows around them, were settling the last preliminaries. The referee pitched the coin. "Heads it is," called Tom quietly. "We'll take the north goal." The wind by this time was stiff out of the north, and the Normals had won the toss. * * * * *