Well, Yardley had cause for rejoicing that day, and rejoice she did; she rejoiced all the way back to Wissining; she rejoiced all during supper and she continued to rejoice until long after she should have been in bed and asleep. It isn’t often that a school has two victories over her dearest rival in one day to celebrate, and Yardley realized the fact and made the most of the privilege. Supper was a noisy, riotous event, with Mr. Collins striving hard to maintain some degree of order without unnecessarily dampening the enthusiasm with which he was thoroughly in sympathy. Commons was cleared early in order that the team might hold its banquet. But, although driven from the dining room, the fellows didn’t go farther than the corridor, and when the members of the team appeared, one by one, they had to literally fight their way to the door through a seething throng of shouting enthusiasts. When they were all inside, players and substitutes,[138] coachers and managers, and Andy Ryan, the doors were closed and locked, and after a final cheer that seemed to shake the very foundations of Whitson, the fellows piled out of the building, formed into procession and, shouting and singing, proceeded to follow a long-established custom and visit the faculty. From building to building they went and one after another the professors and instructors showed themselves at the windows of their rooms, or appeared at the doorways and made their little speeches of congratulation and were cheered. Even Mrs. Ponder, the matron, had to show herself and bow, while “Mr. McCarthy,” the janitor, got a full-sized cheer as the procession passed his lodgings in the basement of Oxford. Finally it was Dr. Hewitt’s turn and the fellows massed outside his windows and demanded audience. Presently the curtain went up in his study and the doctor raised the window.

“Rah, rah, rah, Hewitt!” was the greeting. The principal bowed and smiled and held up his hand for silence. “Old Toby,” as he was called, was getting well along in years and his voice didn’t travel very far.

“Young gentlemen,” he said, “I am very glad to learn of your victory——”

[139]

“Two of them, doctor!” sung out an irrepressible youth at the back of the crowd.

“And glad to learn that the contest passed without injury to any of the players of either side and without regrettable incidents of any sort. The game of football, as you all know, is being much criticised these days and I wish to remind you that it is only by fair and gentlemanly methods of play that you can—ah—appease such criticism. I congratulate you heartily, and thank you. Good night.”

The doctor bowed again and disappeared to the accompaniment of a hearty cheer. Then the procession passed around to the front entrance of Oxford and broke ranks to await the appearance of the team. Joe Chambers, who had been appointed chief marshal of the evening’s proceedings, dispatched a messenger to the banquet to learn what progress was being made. He was back in a jiffy with the report that they were only half through, and Chambers addressed the meeting.

“Fellows, the team is only about halfway through dinner. After dinner they will elect a captain and that will take some time. I don’t believe they’ll be ready for an hour yet. Suppose we march down to the field now and get the[140] bonfire started. Then when the team are ready they’ll join us there.”

“Bonfire! Bonfire! On to the field! Fall in there!”

So the procession formed again and marched down to the field where material for the fire had already been assembled. There were half a dozen nice kerosene barrels and plenty of wood gathered along the river. There were also some railroad ties, a portion of a foot bridge and a section of picket fence which, I fear, had not been so innocently procured. Willing hands massed the barrels and piled the miscellaneous material on top of the pyramid. Then Chambers applied the match and the flames leaped up.

“Ring! Ring!” was the cry. “Form a ring! Everyone join hands!”

In a minute some two hundred and forty rollicking youths were swinging around the fire in a huge circle, advancing, retreating, winding and twisting like a snake that had swallowed its tail, while to the starlit sky two hundred and forty voices arose in song.
“Oh, the wearin’ o’ the Green! Oh, the wearin’ o’ the Green! You can always tell a loser by the wearin’ o’ the Green![141] ’Twas the most distressful ruction that ever yet was seen When we walloped poor old Broadwood for the wearin’ o’ the Green!”

They sang it over and over, keeping time to their steps. Then the ring began to move faster and faster until at last it was whirling around the fire like a mammoth pin wheel, the long shadows of the leaping figures wavin............