Stubbs and Creighton got a crowd together to jolly Harris, and they descended on him in a body.
"Hello, old man!" cried Charlie, gayly. "Is it straight that you won three hundred on Yale to-day?"
"I heard it was five hundred," chirped Bink Stubbs, "What a pull to make! Congratulations, old man!"
"You'll have to ball the crowd when we get to New Haven, Sport," said Lewis Little. "You can afford to open fizz."
Harris smiled in a sickly way, and tried to say something, but Paul Pierson got him by the hand and gave him a shaking up that literally took away his breath.
"Good boy!" cried Paul. "I'm glad you stuck by old Eli! But did you have the nerve to bet every cent you had that Yale would take that game? My, my! You are a nervy fellow, Sport, old chap. You were the only man who had all that confidence."
"Sport never goes back on old Yale," laughed Little. "He knew the chance of Yale's winning looked slim, but still he backed her up. That's what makes him look so cheerful now."
"You would have felt bad if you had bet your money on Harvard, now wouldn't you?" cried Thornton.
"Oh, yes, I certainly should," gasped Harris, who was suffering tortures.
"What a jolly time we'll have drinking fizz on you, old man!" exclaimed Bink Stubbs. "I feel as if I might get away with about four quarts."