A group of lads stood around on the campus during recess, shortly before noon, comparing notes about the chances their school would have when up against the crack athletes of Clifford and Bellport.
Buster Billings had been the first speaker, the fat boy who has often figured in these stories of Columbia High, while the second one who was trying to cheer Lanky up, boy-fashion, by giving him a “dig,” was Jack Comfort, reckoned the best all-round shot-putter the school had ever known.
In the group were several others who have been familiar figures in the past. The good-looking boy who took no part in the conversation, seeming to be very quiet, was Ralph Langworthy. Once he had been known as Ralph West; and Frank Allen had been instrumental in solving a great mystery that hung over his head, thus finding his own true mother for the new chum.
Then there were Paul Bird, a very close chum of Frank’s; Bones Shadduck, Tom Budd, a boy who could never keep still, but must be turning hand-springs, or standing on his head, half of the time; Jack Eastwick, the great doubter of the school, who should have been named Thomas, everybody declared; “Jonsey,” who once upon a time gave out in a boat race, and put Columbia in a hole; and last of all “Red” Huggins, whose faculty for getting his tongue twisted when excited often resulted in queer expressions.
Lanky Wallace had been unusually grave all morning, and the boys noticed it, too. Of course, none of them knew what was ailing the tall student, for Frank alone was in the secret. And most of the talk they were flinging at Lanky now was done for the evident purpose of “getting a rise” from him. If he could be stirred up to give them some heated back talk they might find out what ailed him.
Truth to tell, some of them were feeling a little uneasy. Columbia would evidently have need of all her reserve stock of talent this spring in order to come out ahead in the various trials of skill with her bitter rivals. And Lanky was reckoned one of the shining lights in many a contest where agility and power of endurance counted.
“Cold feet, nothing!” the tall boy flung back at Jack Comfort. “When that happens you’ll find the moon made of green cheese, boys. Fact is, I’m just a little bothered to-day about somethin’ that’s got nothin’ to do with the athletic meet.”
“Been eating some grub that’s given you indigestion, p’raps?” suggested Jonsey.
“For goodness sake, Lanky, don’t get out of trim now; we need you the worst way, if we expect to wipe up the ground with those up and down-river fellows,” implored Paul Bird.
“That’s just what,” broke in Bones Shadduck; “ever since Lanky got treed by that bull he’s been in the dumps. For once he ran up against somethin’ he couldn’t beat, and it’s made him sore.”