Dave gave the signal, and the Oak Hall cheer was given. Then followed another cheer for the school eleven, with a tooting of horns and a clacking of wooden rattles.
"Mercy! but those Oak Hall students can make a noise!" exclaimed one girl, sitting close by.
"That is what they call 'rooting'!" answered her friend. "Isn't it lovely!"
"Perfectly delicious! They ought to win, if they shout like that!"
Guy Frapley heard the racket, and walked over to the spot from whence it proceeded. He was astonished beyond measure to see Dave leading off, yelling at the top of his lungs, and waving a rattle in one hand and the school colors in the other.
"What do you think of that?" he asked, of Nat Poole.
"Oh, Porter and his crowd want to make out they don't feel stung over being out of it," grumbled Nat.
"But they are rooting harder than anybody."
"They'll be glad to see us lose."
"We are not going to lose."
"I didn't say we were," answered Nat, and walked away. Somehow, it made him angry to see Dave and his chums cheering, and in such an earnest manner. He would have been better sat-
