"Oh, you can get a line on the men from their work on their Form teams. Tom has played full back ever since he came to Baxter."
Surprised at their reception, Buttons and his companions stood quietly until Fred began a history of football at Baxter, relating the most exciting incidents of the annual games with Landon, and then launched into the chances of the various candidates for making the 1912 team.
"Look here, Clothespin, it is customary at Baxter to answer when you are spoken to," exclaimed Soda, as soon as Fred paused for breath.
"Beg pardon, did you address me?" asked Bronson, with a well-feigned look of astonishment. "I was so interested in what Fred Markham was telling me that I did not hear you. What did you say?"
"Good boy, Clothespin," exclaimed Fred between laughs, as he danced with glee at Bronson's simulated surprise. "It isn't very polite, Soda, to interrupt when I am telling a new member of our Form about the team, especially when you smell so."
"Oh, shut up, Cotton-Top," snapped Soda. "Nobody's talking to you. Our business is with Clothespin."
"Business?" repeated the latter innocently.
"Yes, business," broke in Buttons. "We received your credentials. They are certainly strong. After due deliberation, however, we have decided that as you did not deliver them in accordance with instructions, you will not be accorded the privileges of the Second Form unless you eat them."
As he uttered the last words, Buttons took the odoriferous limburger from the box and started to jam it into Bronson's mouth.
But before he could do so, Fred caught his arm.