Nearer at hand Ted Foster was personally conducting a little squad around the field by short stages, and his voice, shrilly cheerful, thrilled doubting supporters of the Purple hopefully.

Robinson's players were going through much the same antics at the other end of the gridiron, and there was a business-like air about them that caused many an Erskine watcher to scent defeat for his college.
The cheers had given place to songs, and the leader of the band faced the occupants of the north stand and swung his baton vigorously.
Presumably the band was playing, but unless you had been in its immediate vicinity you would never have known it.

Many of the popular airs of the day had been refitted with new words for the occasion.

As poetic compositions they were not remarkable, but sung with enthusiasm by several hundred sturdy voices they answered the purpose.

Robinson replied in kind, but in lesser volume, and the preliminary battle, the war of voices, went on until three persons, a youth in purple, a youth in brown, and a man in everyday attire, met in the middle of the field and watched a coin spin upward in the sunlight and fall to the ground.
Then speedily the contesting forces took their position, the lines-men and timekeeper hurried forward, and the great stands were almost stilled.
Erskine had the ball and the west goal.