"They must be planning some new move," said Phil. "We'll have to watch out for them."
Presently Babcock, a fine, sturdy player, came forward, followed by Henshaw. Both were frowning, and when Babcock said something to his companion Henshaw nodded vigorously. Plum and Poole came behind, and neither appeared particularly happy.
The game was to be played under the rules of that year, with two halves of thirty minutes each. When it came to the practice Roger's team did what it could. The players were full of energy, but the team work was not at all what it might have been.
"Want to tune up!" sang out one looker-on, to Roger. "Get together!"
"We are trying to," answered the senator's son.
Plum's eleven did much better in practice, working in perfect harmony. Only Poole made fumbles, for which the bully of the Hall upbraided him roundly.
"Oh, don't howl at me," growled Poole. "I am doing as well as you are."
At length the game was called and the two elevens lined up. They were pretty well matched, although Henshaw and Babcock stood out above the others.
"Wish that pair were on our side," sighed Roger. "Each of them has weight, wind, and cleverness—just the things a good football player ought to possess."
There was no time to say more. The toss-up gave Plum's eleven the ball and a few minutes later it was put into play and sent twenty yards into our friends' territory. Then came a scrimmage and the leather went back and forth rapidly. The play was ragged, for neither side had as yet settled down to hard work. There was no brilliant play, and when the ball was carried over the line by Henshaw the applause was rather tame.