“It’s warming up,” said Alf, “and I guess we won’t catch cold. I don’t want any of you fellows stiff this afternoon, though. We’d better not sit here too long, I fancy.”
“Oh, this is all right,” muttered Tom, squatting down. “What time do the coaches start for Broadwood, Alf?”
“One thirty. And luncheon’s at twelve forty-five prompt. What time is it now?”
[99]
“Eleven twenty-five,” answered Dan. “Say, who’s going to umpire? Didn’t Payson say that Wallace couldn’t come?”
“Yes. I don’t know who they’ll get. It’s up to Broadwood. They’ve got two or three men over there that’ll be all right.”
They talked over the afternoon’s game for awhile, contrary to Payson’s instructions, and then Mills, the Broadwood captain, spied them and joined the group. Mills was a big, broad-shouldered chap of twenty, a splendid guard and a splendid fellow as well, and every man who had ever played against him liked him thoroughly. He and Alf shook hands, and then Tom greeted him and Alf introduced Dan.
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Vinton,” said Mills warmly. “I don’t believe, though, that we need an introduction. I guess we remember each other from last year, don’t we? Anyhow, I remember you—to my sorrow.”
Dan smiled.
“I hope you’ll remember us all to your sorrow this afternoon,” he said.
“I don’t,” laughed Mills. “Well, what do you say about it, Loring?” he asked, turning to the rival captain. “How’s it coming out?”
“If I knew I’d tell you,” replied Alf dryly.[100] “Honestly, Mills, I wouldn’t attempt to guess. You fellows have got a ripping good team; we all know that; and we’ve got a pretty fair one too. And there you are. You’ve had some good coaching this year, haven’t you?”
Mills nodded.
“No kick there,” he said. “And we’ve got some good players. Well, I want to win, and I guess you do, too, Loring. However it comes out it’s going to be a good game. I wouldn’t miss it for a million dollars. By the way, you fellows are going to use the gym this year. We’ve fixed it so you can have the upstairs floor. That all right?”
“It’s fine, thanks,” answered Alf gratefully. “It beats trying to keep warm in one of those confounded coaches. It’s mighty decent of you chaps.”
“Not a bit. I don’t see why we haven’t always done that. I guess the time’s going by when it’s the style to make the other fellow as uncomfortable as possible in the hope that it’ll affect his playing. Say, you had a rough deal at Brewer, didn’t you? What was the matter with that referee? I sent Foley and Robinson over to see the game and they were telling me about it.”
“Oh, he was just crazy under foot like a[101] radish,” answered Alf disgustedly. “The ball was dead and he didn’t know it.”
“Too bad. By the way, how’s this stunt coming out?” asked Mills with a nod toward the finish line.
“Oh, we have this affair cinched,” said Tom lazily. “We’ve filled all our runners with oxygen and put motors on ’em. You can’t beat ’em, Mills.”
“I guess not, in that case. Well, I must mosey along. See you all this afternoon, fellows, and I hope we’ll have a good, clean game. And if you win, why, it’s all right—until next time. Only I won’t be here next time.”
“Same with me,” said Alf. “But maybe we’ll have a crack at each other in college, Mills. You’re for Princeton, I suppose?”
“Yes, if I pass! You going up to Yale?” Alf nodded.
“Same ‘if.’”
“Well, good-by,” said Mills, nodding. “Some of those runners ought to be turning up pretty soon, I suppose.”
“He’s a mighty decent chap,” mused Alf, when the visitor had strolled away toward where the Broadwood contingent was grouped at the finish. “Wonder why we didn’t get him at Yardley.”
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