Mr. Lindsay sat in one of the upper rows of seats close to the cheering sections, and gazed with amazement at the streams of people pouring in through the gates and along the side of the white-checked rectangle. It was a beautiful sight in the bright sunlight of this clear, cold November day, the circle of sober buildings keeping dignified watch on the hillside, the slopes thronged by an impatient crowd, and the wide circumference of field animate with floating banners, gay-ribboned dresses, and eager, joyous, expectant faces. Around him on every side were merriment and youth and a fulness of vigorous, happy, hopeful life. Men whose schooldays lay a dozen years behind them hallooed to their mates over his shoulder; college boys revived school memories in his ears; at his knees sat the “kid brother” of some Seatonian, awed into silence by the importance of the occasion; while the boy’s elder sister, excited by the novel scene and less concerned for the outcome, chattered gayly with her escort. In these surroundings, with his antipathy to the whole proceeding strong within him, Mr. Lindsay felt like a survivor of a past generation, as isolated as a man who knows only his own language in the strange babel of a foreign port.
A few tiers below, the solicitous father caught sight of a fringe of gray beard appearing on either side of a round, fur-capped head. Here at last must be a kindred spirit, mourning with him this squandering of money, this waste of time, this wanton imperilling of young lives. But the fur cap revolved, and a merry, smiling face turned toward the seats above—the youngest, happiest, jolliest face in all the Seaton sections! Mr. Lindsay was discouraged. He lost hope of sympathy from this audience—more like Spaniards at a bull-fight than reasonable, civilized Americans.
From the hill beyond came the sound of a low-pitched staccato chant, growing gradually clearer till from behind the red-steepled building emerged a dark, compact line of advancing boys. It was the Seaton school marching to a man to support their team. They came slowly on, four abreast, planting the left foot to each letter as they spelled the school name, chanting their way around the field to the cheering sections. It was the chant of conquerors,—strong, hopeful, revealing and inspiring confidence. Mr. Lindsay thawed a little under the warmth of the general enthusiasm as he watched these stanch followers crowd to their seats.