“It was terrible, wasn’t it!” mourned Sam, reminded anew of the school’s affliction.
“They got it right in the neck,” returned Mulcahy, cheerfully. “Defence, attack, kicking, running, forward passes, Hillbury put it all over ’em. They won’t hold up their heads for a week. It’s a very different thing being on an eleven that’s had the stuffing beaten out of it, from playing a winner.”
“You talk as if you were glad we got beaten,” said Sam, gloomily.
“Oh, no, I’m just making the best of the case. There’s no use in crying about it. You and I didn’t lose the game, anyway. Those that lost will have to take the kicks now.”
“I don’t think they deserve kicks. They played as well as they knew how. Kendrick was a regular star. The way he stopped the rushes of that big red-headed Hillbury half-back was wonderful!”
“Yes, he did pretty well considering the short time he’s been out,” Mulcahy conceded. “But what good was it? They got licked to their knees, that’s the essential fact.”
“Who wrote that editorial in the ‘Seatonian’ special about the game?”
“I did,” replied Mulcahy, complacently. “Wasn’t it smooth?”
“Well, your statements don’t hang together then. In that you said that while the result of the game was disappointing to Seaton, the main thing, after all, was that it was well played and fairly won; it was no disgrace to a team to be beaten in such a contest.”
Mulcahy laughed heartily. “The ‘Seatonian’ was speaking then. The paper says what will sound well and suit the profs. The editors think what they please.”