And upstairs in the dining room many a throat grew hard and "lumpy" as the refrain came in at the open windows.
But, as the trainer muttered presently, it was only the freshmen who had won, and the real battle of the day was yet to come.

And soon the band and the shouting parade wheeled away from beneath the windows and swung off up the street to make known far and wide the greatness of Harwell, her freshmen, and the grandeur of their victory over the youngsters of Yates.

And, as the last cheer floated up from the procession as it disappeared around a far corner, lunch was served, and player and coach, trainer and rubber, substitute and mascot, drew up to the last meal before--what?
Victory or defeat?
It was not a merry repast, that lunch before the fray.

Some men could not bring themselves to eat at all until the coaches commanded with dire threats.

Others, as though nothing out of the ordinary was about to take place, ate heartily, hungrily, of everything set before them.