cheer for the team and then for a short cheer for each member of it, starting with the captain, Sher¬ man Walford, and ending with the great half-back, Harry Slade.
Suddenly there was silence. The toss-up had been completed; the teams were in position on the field. Slade had finished building a slender pyra¬ mid of mud, on which he had balanced the ball. The referee held up his hand. “Are you ready, Sanford?” Walford signaled his readiness. “Are you ready, Raleigh?”
The shrill blast of the referee’s whistle—and the game was on. The first half was a see-saw up and down the field. Near the end of the half Raleigh was within twenty yards of the Sanford line. Shouts of “Score! Score! Score!” went up from the Raleigh rooters, rhythmic, insistent. “Hold ’em! Hold ’em! Fight! Fight! Fight!” the Sanford cheering section pleaded, almost sobbing the words. A forward pass skilfully completed netted Raleigh sixteen yards. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
The timekeeper tooted his little horn; the half was over. For a moment the Sanford boys leaned back exhausted; then they leaped to their feet and yelled madly, while the Raleigh boys leaned back or against each other and swore fervently. Within two minutes the tension had departed. The rival cheering sections alternated in singing songs, ap-
