“Oh, what of it?” asked Tom, who liked to take chances. “We’ve got to do something. It isn’t so late, and there are no lectures to-morrow.”
“All right, go ahead. I’m with you. But I hope we don’t get caught. It might mean being ruled out of the game to-morrow.”
Bert was grateful for the sympathy of his chums, and soon felt in better humor. Jack offered to repeat his water pitcher juggling act, and was only prevented by force on the part of Tom. There was a merry scuffle, and George Abbot came in to see what was going on, at the same time bringing warning that a sub-monitor had been patroling the corridors.
“Then we’ve got to be quiet,” declared Tom. “Cut out your juggling, Jack.”
The four chums talked for an hour or more, and then the three, who were out of their rooms, taking a cautious survey of the hall, prepared to go to bed, ready for the big game on the morrow. Jack and Tom just escaped being caught as they slipped into their apartment, but, as Tom remarked, “A miss was as good as a mile.”
Then came the day of the great game.
“Line up! Line up!”
“Over here, Elmwood!”
“This way, Holwell!”