The game was over.
That last kick had failed, but who cared?
The score was eleven to two! Ere the players could escape from the field the Gridley boosters were over on the gridiron.
Dick and Dave were bodily carried to dressing quarters.

Wadleigh, who had shown fine generalship in this stiff game was cheered until the boosters went hoarse.
"Gentlemen," cried Coach Morton, raising his voice to its fullest carrying power as the dressing quarters filled, "it's probably too early to brag, but I feel that we've got an old-fashioned Gridley eleven this year." "Ask Grant!" "Ask anybody in Tottenville!" The first yell was sent up by Ripley, the second by another substitute.
All the Gridley members of the team were excited at the close of this game.

Not even their weariness kept down their spirits.
Herr Schimmelpodt didn't attempt to enter quarters.

He was now too much of a "sport" to attempt that.

But he stood just outside the door, vigorously mopping his shining, wet face.
There were two extra places in the German's hired car.