down there in front of thirty thousand Tate rooters in the huge Tate stadium and shouted, "Now altogether, fellows, for the team yell. And make it a good one! They need you now if they never did before. Are you rea-a-dy? Hip! Hi-i-ip!" And he hurled down his megaphone and leaped into an imitation of a stage contortionist attacked by hysteria.
He skipped madly first to one side and then to the other. He bent, whirled and jerked his long body into all sorts of incredible postures. He flung clenched fists into the air with violent forward, backward, downward, upward, sideways and circular movements.
He felt the thrill of the great mob responding to his labors. From thirty thousand hoarse Tate throats he could hear the battle cry:
Whee-e-e-e, wham;
Chop suey, chop suey;
Tate! Tate! Ta-a-ate!
At the last shrieked "Ta-a-ate!" he sprang high into the air, flinging his arms far apart. Harold Lamb, breathing hard from his efforts, sat down and smiled.
He was proud of himself. He was the best
