gathered, and there was always something doing in that especial
quarter. Seated in the front rank was a lively little chap who carried
a tremendous megaphone. This fellow was no other than the redoubtable
Packy McGraw, Chester's cheer captain, who had done such yeoman
service during the baseball games in leading the pack to hurl defiance
at the enemy, and to encourage the home boys in every way possible.

When the humor seized Packy, or some stage in the game made such
action desirable, he would leap the barrier, and jumping up and down
like a harlequin in front of the bleacher benches, start his cohort
into a combined school yell that must make the hot blood leap through
the veins of everyone who called Chester his or her home town.

It was really a most inspiring sight, that immense gathering of
people, all filled with animation, and a desire to see one or the
other of the contesting teams carry the ball to goal and touchdown,
until the victory had been won.

The best, of course, was yet to come, when, game being called, every
eye would be riveted upon the figures in the arena, crouching like
wildcats ready to bound into life in concert.

While the necessary preliminaries were being attended to, and the
players were under close surveillance, naturally much of the talk
being indulged in was connected with their appearance.

Some seemed to be of the opinion that Marshall looked much stronger in
the way of beef and brawn. It was undoubtedly true that, taken as a
whole, the home players did outweigh the visitors. This might prove of
advantage to them in certain mass plays, where their machine could mow