They tossed off the drinks.
“I haven’t taken a drink before this term,” said Fillmore dolefully, “and I did so to-day to pull those dubs into the trap. If any one peaches on me, I’ll get a raking over.”
“You can’t get much of a raking, for wasn’t Branch in the bunch? He’s the one who will get the raking. He’ll lose his job.”
“He doesn’t care, for the season is pretty nearly over, and he graduates, so he doesn’t want the position again. That’s how I induced him to get onto the band wagon to-day. We’re not going to take Merriwell and Hodge back to their ladies in the shape we expected.”
“Unless we get them into a mess with the whole bunch and all jump on them.”
“Can’t do that. The boys won’t stand for it. Some of them are gone on Merriwell now. They thought it would be a joke to get the great athlete out here and put him up against Galway; but they’ll see no joke in mobbing him. It won’t work. We’re baffled to-day, old man, and we may as well throw up the sponge.”
“But there’s another time coming,” muttered Hackett.
“We’ll have to give Merriwell that game. I hate him! I thought I hated Herb Onslaw, but I hate Merriwell worse. I’d like to get a rap at him.”
“You might be able to in the game.”
“That’s right,” nodded Fillmore. “More than one fellow has been knocked out with a lacrosse stick while playing. No one could prove I did it intentionally. It would give me lots of satisfaction. It’s the very chance I’ve been praying for with Onslaw.”