It was simply a matter of giving the ball to the Prodigious Prodigy, then
waving the linesmen to move down twenty yards or more toward Latham's line.
Thor was simply unstoppable, and more beneficial even than his phenomenal
playing was his encouragement to the team. He kept urging them to action,
his foghorn growl of, "Come on, boys!" was a slogan of victory! Judging by
Thor's awakening, and his work of the Latham game, Bannister's hopes of The
State Intercollegiate Football Championship are as roseate as the blush on
a maiden's cheek at her first kiss, and--
That night, in the cozy room of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., John Thorwald,
supremely happy yet withal as uncomfortable as a whale on the Sahara
Desert, overflowed an easy-chair. The room was filled, or what space Thor
left, with the Bannister eleven, second-team players, Coach Corridan, and
several students; on the campus a riotous crowd of Bannister youths "raised
merry Heck," as Hicks phrased it, and their cheer floated up to the
windows:
"Rah! Rah! Rah! Thor! Thor! Thor! He's--all--right!"
"Come, fellows," spoke T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.
"Let's sing to the captain, good old Butch! Let 'er go!"
"Here's to good Butch Brewster! Drink it down!
Here's to good Butch Brewster! Drink It down!
Here's to good Butch Brewster--
He plays football like he
uster-- Drink it down! Drink it down--down--down--down!"
A strange sound startled the joyous youths; it was a rumbling noise,
like distant thunder, and at first they could not place it.
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