he crowded forward into the front ranks of the assembly.

"Alden scores touchdown and goal. Winthrop fighting desperately, but
outweighed and outplayed since Hawley taken out."

"It's all over but the shouting," said the sophomore whose gloomy views
had been so sharply rebuked by the senior. "There isn't any use in
hanging around here. Come on, fellows! Let's go where there's something
a little more cheerful."

He made as if to depart from the crowd, but as no one followed him, he
apparently abandoned his purpose and remained with his fellows. Only two
more dispatches were read, the second of which announced the end of the
game with the score still standing in favor of Alden thirteen to
nothing.

"Rotten!" exclaimed the sophomore angrily. "Just what we might--" He
stopped abruptly as the senior advanced to a place where he could be
seen by all and began to harangue the assembly.

"Now, fellows," he began, "the best test of our spirit is that we can
stand up and take this in the right way. Of course, we wanted the game,
and some of us hoped and expected we would have it too. But the other
team, and doubtless the better one, has won. Next year we'll be ready
for them again, or rather you will, for I sha'n't be here, and the time
to begin to win then is right here and now. But I want to put in a good
word for our team. I haven't a doubt that they did their level best, and
if we could see them now, we'd be almost as proud of them as if they had
won. I know every man put in his best work. And what I propose is that
we go down to the station to-night and meet them with as hearty a cheer
as if they had won the game, for we know they did their best to uphold
the honor of old Winthrop to a man!"

A cheer greeted the senior's words, and at ten o'clock that evening all
the students who were in town assembled at the little station to greet
the returning members of the team. But Will Phelps, when the train came
to a standstill and the boys leaped out upon the platform, speedily
forgot all about the game in the sight which greeted his eyes.

CHAPTER XVII

PETER JOHN'S DOWNFALL

In the midst of the cheering and shouting that greeted the return of the
team and its supporters, Will Phelps attained a glimpse of the sturdy
heroes themselves who had fought the battle of the gridiron. Some of
them were somewhat battered and he could see that Hawley carried his arm
in a sling. His classmate's face was pale, but as he was su