All carried aloft by worshiping Tatians and borne to the field house. Tate would have grabbed Mike Cavendish too and carried him if they thought they had dared.
Harold, surveying all those mad thousands of people from his lofty perch, finally caught sight of the one face he was looking for—Peggy's. She waved madly to him and tried to make her way to him through the milling hordes. He waved frantically and yelled "Peggy!" He had an impulse to jump down and run to her. She disappeared into the throng. An instant later, flushed and happy, buffeted about by delirious Tatians, she managed to get near enough to him to reach up her arm and hand him the piece of paper clutched in her fingers. It was a note hastily scrawled on part of a page torn from a magazine. He reached down so far to take Peggy's note that he almost plunged off his supporters' shoulders into the crowd. He tried to attain her wrist, to hold her. But now there was a fresh onslaught by the sons of Tate upon their hero. Peggy was caught in the maelstrom, borne away out of sight.
Roaring Tate carried its football gods to the porch of the field house, and deposited them.
"Speech, 'Speedy,' speech!" went up a mighty shout.
