in a week or two, but there wouldn't be any more football or basketball or hockey for "Big Bill" this winter. The fact that he would be back in a fortnight or less interested the School not a particle just then. Later it would consider that fact with gratification, but just now all that occupied its mind was that the Team had lost its best fullback in years, the one player who never got hurt, the man around whom the Team's attack had been carefully constructed! So when I say that the heavens fell I'm choosing my metaphor very carefully.
Until then Wyndham had still hoped to defeat her rival. The loss of Coach Otis had been a severe blow, but victory had remained a possibility in the judgment of most. But now—why, it wasn't worth talking about! That game was as good as played! Might just as well cheer Wolcott to-day and have it over with!
There were some who advocated forfeiting the game while there was still time, but this idea didn't meet with general approval, not even while the stunning effect of the blow was yet at its height. No, they'd play Wolcott and do the best they could. That was only sportsmanly. And maybe the poor, decrepit old Team would crawl out of the contest still recognizable to its closest friends! In any case, defeat was honorable if not desirable!
There was a good deal of talk during Wednesday and Thursday about Honor in Defeat, and the Last Ditch, and Going Through With It. Wednesday night's mass meeting was truly pathetic. "Shadowed
