Down the long platform it went, past the waiting room doors where a crowd of onlookers waved hats and handkerchiefs, and so out into the city street.
Joel turned his head away from the observers, ashamed and happy.

There was no let-up to the cheering.

One after another the names of the players and substitutes, coaches and trainer, were cheered and cheered again.
"Out of the way there!" cried Joel's bearers, and the marching throng looked about, moved apart, and as Joel was borne through, cheered him to the echo, reaching eager hands toward him, crying words of commendation and praise into his buzzing ears.
"Rah-rah-rah, Rah-rah-rah, Rah-rah-rah, March!" "One!" shrieked a youth near where Joel soon found himself at the head of the procession, and the slogan was taken up: "Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten! E-lev-en!" "Now give me your hand, Joel!" cried the youth upon whose left shoulder he was swaying.

Joel obeyed, smiling affectionately down into the upraised face.

Then he uttered a cry of pain.