Dana, the senior-class president, strode at the head of the line and issued his commands through a big purple megaphone.
Erskine was marching out to the field to cheer the eleven and to practise the songs that were to be chanted defiantly at the game.

Sydney had started with his class, but had soon been left behind, the rubber tires of the machine slipping badly in the mud.

Presently the head of the procession, but dimly visible to him through the mist, turned in at the gate, the monster flag of royal purple, with its big white E, drooping wet and forlorn on its staff.

They were cheering again now, and Sydney whispered an accompaniment behind the collar of his coat: "Erskine! Erskine! Erskine! Rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah! Erskine! Erskine! Erskine!" Suddenly footsteps sounded behind him and the tricycle went forward apparently of its own volition.

Sydney turned quickly and saw Mills's blue eyes twinkling down at him.
"Did I surprise you ?" laughed the coach.
"Yes, I thought my wheel had suddenly turned into an automobile." "Hard work for you, I'm afraid.