“Don’t lose any sleep over that,” returned Merry.
He met Morgan, extending his hand.
“Dade, I presume you’re going to pitch against us?” he said.
“I believe so,” said Morgan, with that sweet smile, his eyelids drooping. “But it’s to be clean sport.”
“I should hope so, with these teams playing. Still, I can understand that it will be for blood.”
“Of course.”
After the regular practise, the Mysteries came in from the field. Some little time was spent in handshaking, while the great bunch of Yale men on the bleachers sang, “Here’s to Good Old Yale.”
Hans Dunnerwurst toddled up to Merry, extending his pudgy hand, as he cried:
“How you vos, ain’d id? You vos glatness to seen me, I pelief. Yaw! I’d peen a regular surprising barty. Yaw!”