test that had resulted in championship for Randall.
And then, welling over the field once more, came softly the song: "Either We Conquer, or We Die!"
There were bonfires that night at Randall—bonfires in which the football suits were burned, for the eleven broke training in a blaze of glory. Also there were feastings, for there was no ban on eating now. And, likewise, there was much rejoicing. For was not Randall champion again? Had not her loyal sons again won a victory on the gridiron? Therefore, let the gladness go on!
Sid was the lion of the hour. It was his great run—his struggle against long odds—that had won the big game, and he was carried on the shoulders of his mates, and his name was heralded in song and story.
"Oh, it was great, old man, great!" cried Tom, as they walked together from the gymnasium, where there had been a sort of impromptu joy-meeting after the feast.
"Nothing like it ever seen at Randall," declared Phil.
"Nothing like it ever seen anywhere," put in the big Californian.
"I never could have done it, if you hadn't
