Part 7 (2/2)
”Go in!” he cries. ”Go in!” and Bate, coming up with a rush, throws himself behind the scrim.
His weight turns the scale. Slowly at first, but gaining momentum with every inch, the ma.s.s yields, sways, and begins to move. The McGill men, shoving, hacking, scragging, fighting fiercely, finally dropping on their knees, strive to check that relentless advance. It is in vain.
Their hour has come.
With hoa.r.s.e cries, regardless of kicks and blows, trampling on prostrate foes, and followed by a mob of spectators tumultuously cheering, the 'Varsity wedge cleaves its way, till on the other side The Don appears with the ball hugged to his breast and Huntingdon hanging to his throat. A final rush and the ball is down. ”The ball is down!” cries the referee, and almost immediately time is called.
The great match is over. By four points 'Varsity holds the champions.h.i.+p of the Dominion.
”The greatest match ever played on this ground,” cries old Black, pus.h.i.+ng through the crowd to Campbell, with both hands outstretched.
After him comes the Montreal captain.
”I congratulate you most heartily,” he says, in a voice that breaks in spite of all he can do.
”Thanks, old man,” says Campbell quietly. ”It was a case of sheer luck.”
”Not a bit of it,” replies Huntingdon, recovering himself. ”You have a great team. I never saw a better.”
”Well,” replies Campbell heartily, ”I have just seen as good, and there's none we would rather win from than McGill.”
”And none,” replies Huntingdon, ”McGill would rather lick than 'Varsity.”
Meantime Shock, breaking from a crowd of admirers who are bound to carry him in on their shoulders, makes for the Fairbanks carriage, and greets his mother quietly.
”Well, mother, it's over at last.”
”Ay, it is. Poor fellows, they will be feeling bad. But come along, laddie. You will be needing your supper, I doubt.”
Shock laughs loud. He knows his mother, and needs no words to tell him her heart is bursting with pride and triumph.
”Come in. Let us have the glory of driving you home,” cries Betty.
”In this garb?” laughs Shock.
”That's the garb of your glory,” says Helen, her fine eyes l.u.s.trous with excitement.
”Come, Hamish man, you will get your things and we will be waiting for you.”
”Very well,” he replies, turning away. ”I will be only a minute.”
He is not allowed to escape, but with a roar the crowd seize him, lift him shoulder high, and chanting, ”Shock! Shock! we--like--Shock!” bear him away, in triumph.
”Eh, what are the daft laddies saying now?” inquires the old lady, struggling hard to keep out of her voice the pride that shone in her eyes.
”Listen,” cries Helen, her eyes s.h.i.+ning with the same light. ”Listen to them,” and beating time with her hand she joins in the chant, ”Shock!
Shock! we--like--Shock.”
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