were awfully quiet just then. Even the Wolcott players, prancing and edging, madly anxious to break through, said nothing! Then, when Heard had trod around for a moment back there, he held his arms out straight and—oh, well, he made the goal. There's no use in prolonging suspense. Wyndham won the game, completing her season with three victories, and a score or so of tired, dirt-stained boys hugged each other weakly and cheered the defeated rival.
Later, Clif and the others, refreshed and hurriedly rehabilitated, reached the other field in time to see the First play the final quarter of its game with High Point. It wasn't very interesting, and even if it had been the Scrub players were still too excited over their own triumph to find it so. Ostensibly they watched the First Team substitutes vainly try to add to the Dark Blue's score of 14 to 0, but actually they saw little that went on. They were going over the Wolcott Scrub contest almost play by play and deriving a soul-satisfying pleasure. The Fighting Scrub, however others might appraise it, thought very well of itself that Saturday afternoon!
