"Not now, and if any of those fellows expect to make the eleven this fall I'll have to make them cut it out."
"Right! How's football coming on?"
"Oh, I've got some good material, and I expect more when the new fellows begin to arrive."
"Going to play Tom Fairfield?"
"I sure am, if he'll train properly, and I think he will. I want him for one of the backs. He's a sure ground gainer, quick on his feet, he holds the ball fast and he can kick well."
"I hope he makes good," went on Bruce. "Well, I'm going to cut away.
I want to see the doctor, and arrange about my studies."
The two strolled over the green campus, arm in arm, and they had hardly gone a dozen steps before, from the little store of Pop Swab, there come pouring Tom and his friends, all talking at once.
"That's what we'll do!"
"A class matter of it—sure!"
"We'll work the Coventry game to the limit!"