“‘Rally Round the Flag,’” suggested Miriam Nesbit.  “That has a dandy swing to it.”

Grace hummed a few bars.

“The very thing,” she exclaimed.  “Now, Anne, get busy at once.  You’d better sing the tune to yourself all the time you’re writing it, then you’ll be sure to put more dash and spirit into it.”

“I wish the day of the game were here,” said Jessica plaintively.  “I have been practising a most encouraging howl.  Hippy, David and Reddy have a new one, too.  Reddy says it’s ’marvelously extraordinary and appallingly great.’”

“I can imagine it to be all that and more if Hippy had anything to do with its origin,” said Nora.

“Wasn’t it nice of Miss Thompson to exonerate us publicly?” asked Anne.

“She is always just,” replied Grace.  “I can’t understand how Eleanor could be so rude and disagreeable to her.  She has disliked Miss Thompson from the first.”

“I wonder whether she apologized to Miss Thompson last night,” mused Grace.

“I feel sure that she didn’t, and I am just as sure that she won’t get back until she does.”

“We shall manage to exist if she doesn’t,” said Jessica dryly.  She felt a personal grudge against Eleanor for her accusation against Mabel, who had grown very dear to her and whom she mothered like a hen with one chicken.

“She’ll probably appear at the game in all her glory,” said Miriam Nesbit.  “She can go to that, even though she is on bad terms with the school.”

The recess bell cut short the conversation and the girls returned to their desks with far better ideas of the coming game than of the afternoon’s lessons.

Saturday, December 12, dawned cold and clear, and the girls on both teams were in high spirits as they hustled into their respective locker-rooms and rapidly donned their gymnasium suits.  The spectators had not yet begun to arrive, as it was still early, so the girls indulged in a little warming-up practice, did a few stunts and skipped about, overflowing with animal spirits.

Julia Crosby and Grace took turns sprinting around the gymnasium three times in succession, while Miriam Nesbit timed them, Grace finishing just two seconds ahead of Julia.

By a quarter of two the gallery was fairly well filled and by five minutes of two it was crowded.  The juniors, with the exception of Eleanor Savell’s faction, arrived in a body, gave the High School yell the moment they spied their team, and then burst forth with the basketball song, led by Ruth Deane, a tall junior, who stood up and beat time with both hands.  Anne had composed the song the week before.  The juniors had all received copies of the words and had learned them by heart.  They now sang with the utmost glee, and came out particularly strong on the chorus, which ran: 

“The juniors forever, hurrah, fans, hurrah! 
Our team is a winner, our captain’s a star. 
And we’ll drive the senior foe, from the basket every time. 
Shouting the war cry of the juniors.”