Just outside the lines, behind a huge megaphone mounted on a tripod,
stood Dick Prescott, cheer-master. At his side was Dave Darrin,
whose duties were likely to prove mainly nominal.
Dick swung the megaphone from left to right, as he called out
through it:
"Now, then---number seven!"
From the boy's side came the prompt response, in slow, measured
cadence, every word of it distinct:
"C-O-B-B-E-R! Born in misfortune! Reared on trouble. Grew to
be a disgrace---and died in tears!"
Cobber's friends had to "chew" over that. They had nothing in
their repertory of "sass" that seemed to fill this bill.
To return an inapt yell would be worse than silence. So the visitors
sat scowling at the field.
"Score one on Cobber's goat," grinned Dave Darrin.
Presently, after some whispering on the visitors' stand, this
rather lame one came from the college crowd:
"C-O-B-B-E-R! C-O-B-W-E-B! Our trap for the foolish little fly!"
One of the few girls on the visitors' stand rose to wave her brown
and gray banner. She slipped and fell through between the seats.
Quick as a flash Dave Darrin sprang to the megaphone, swinging
it around at the enemy, and bawling this atrocious pun:
"Now you spider! But now you can't!"
That brought a laugh, even from the visitors. The hapless girl,
with the help of some of her male friends, was hoisted up once
more to a seat and safety.
"Look at the poor girl," laughed Dick to Darrin. "She's wearing
our colors now---crimson face and a gold locket under it.
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