"But the train goes at eleven, sir!" Mr. Hoyt smiled faintly. "In that case, Foster, I don't see how you can be here at twelve."
Myron hurried out before the secretary had time to change his mind and think differently!
It rained that day, and the game was played in a sea of water on a soft and slippery turf. Many boys who had meant to accompany the team backed out when they viewed the weather, and only a handful huddled in raincoats behind the Parkinson bench and aided the Brown with damp enthusiasm. Not that a great deal of cheering was needed, however, for the first period settled the outcome of the contest, and after that it was merely a question of whether Chancellor would score. Parkinson started with the line-up that, so rumour had it, would face Kenwood two weeks later: Stearns and Norris, ends; Mellen and Keith, tackles; Cummins and Dobbins, guards; Cantrell, centre; Cater, quarter; Meldrum and Brown, halves; Kearns, full. But that arrangement did not outlast the second period. The third began with the score 19 to 0 and five substitutes on the field. And during the subsequent thirty minutes of playing time additional changes were frequent. Parkinson ended with many third substitutes in the line-up, to which may be fairly attributed the fact that Chancellor saved her face at the last and scored seven points.
With a slippery field and a wet ball, both teams had stuck pretty closely to line plays, but some five or six minutes from the end, Grove, playing quarter, took a chance and shot the ball to Houghton, at full, for a wide run around left end. Houghton muffed, not a difficult thing to do when the ball is as slippery as a pat of butter and it reaches you off at one side, and the fat was in the fire. A defeated team is a dangerous team, and Chancellor proved it then and there by piling through the Parkinson first and second defences, upsetting the distressed Houghton and salvaging the pigskin some thirty yards from the Brown's goal-line. For the first time in many long, wet minutes the spectators had something to thrill over. A long-limbed, shock-headed Chancellor forward in mud-reeking pants and torn jersey, wearied and winded, went plunging and stumbling and slipping toward a touchdown with the field strewed out behind him. Interference was hasty but effective. Parkinson and Chancellor youths went down like nine-pins, splashing into puddles, gouging into mud. For a moment it seemed that the incident would end with twenty-two players flat on the wet ground and only the officials erect! But, although many fell by the way, others managed to keep their feet and run it out, and among these was the youth with the ball. Twice he went to his knees, but each time he recovered before the enemy reached him, and in the end he slid over the line close to the left goal-post, and Chancellor shouted and leaped with delight.