THE BATTALION.
which made the game very unpleasant for
the players. Locally Company C has an
exceptionally fast and gritty little team,
having won every game.
A* & M. vs. Trinity.
The return game with Trinit}' - , long
looked forward to by A. & M., was played
at Herald Pafk in Houston Friday, Nov.
21st, before a small crowd.
The morning was cloudy with drizzling
rain but the evening was bright and pleas
ant overhead, though very muddy under
foot, which doubtless kept away many who
would have liked to have seen the game.
At 3:30 A. & M. kicked off and in just
four minutes scored her first touchdown’
Trinity was unable to stop the fierce line
plunges of the guards’ back formation, of
to advance the ball through A. & M.’s
line.
Two more touchdowns were made in the
first half and both converted into goals,
making the score 17 to o in favor of A. &
M.
Up to this time the crowd had been very
quiet, but during the rest between halves the
A. & M. aggregation of rooters arrived on
their belated train and soon the air was
rent with their yells.
The second half was a repetition of the
first, except A. & M. paid more attention
to end runs and succeeded for the first time
this session in making gains in this way.
Toward the latter part of the game the
A. & M. substitutes were given a chance to
practice, Hammer relieving Carpenter on
left end, Pirie taking Blake’s place at right
half, and Bartley going in at left half in
place of Davis.
Seventeen points were made this half,
raising the score to 34 points for A. & M.
No A. & M. players were hurt, but Sims
and Dickey of Trinity received painful
though not serious bruises.
Time of halves—25, 20. Officials —
Platt, of Lafayette; Choate, of Nashville
C.
Tulane Versus A. and M.
J. S. Graves, McKinney, Tex.
The sporty gamely place their “mon,”
The good abuse their rights,
As on the field of battle run,
Their true and chosen knights.
As in the time when ’twas the rule
For knights to fight for fame,
These trusty few defend their school,
Her honour and her name.
They have no steel and feathered crests,
No lances, nor no darts,
But still beneath those manly breasts
Beat true and loyal hearts.
No single herald loud proclaims,
But hundreds do declare,
And rising shout the welcome names
Of Davis and Deware.
And then the air is filled with cries
For this the team they love so well,
And high into the Southern skies
Ascends the college yell.
But look! they crouch, the whistle sounds
And cuts November’s air,
And far away the oval bounds
Propelled by stout Deware.
It rises, curves, and then descends,
’Tis caught—’tis held—’tis down.