the band started "See, the Conquering Hero Comes," much out of tune, perhaps, but enthusiastically enough to make up for lack of harmony. Clearfield spread itself about the east end of the field and Springdale lined up behind its forty yards while Heath, the center, built up the tee and cocked the ball to his liking. The sun had gone behind the clouds again and a little cold breeze was quartering the field from the northwest, causing spectators to pull rugs around their knees and button coats at the necks and the players to trot about as they waited for the whistle.
"Ready, Captain Torrey?"
"Ready, sir!"
"Ready, Captain White?"
"All ready, sir!"
The whistle blew, Heath strode forward and swung a long leg and the pigskin arched into air again.
