CHAPTER XII
IN THE BATTLE AGAINST LEHIGH
Before noon the next day Lehigh turned up—-team, subs., howlers and all, and as many as could crowded into the conveyances that had been sent down to the railway station to meet the team and coaches.
The cadet corps, busy to a man with Saturday morning recitations, did not see the arrival of the visiting team. But the Lehighs and the afternoon's game were the only topics for talk at dinner in the cadet mess hall.
"They've sent over a race of giants," growled Brayton down the length of the table at which he sat, while a poor little plebe cadet, acting as "gunner," was serving the roast beef. "Sergeant Brinkman, of the quartermaster's detachment, told me that the weight of the team sprung the axles on two of the stoutest quartermaster wagons. Every man that Lehigh sent over weighs a good part of a ton. What do you think of that, Prescott?"
"Glad enough to hear it," smiled Dick, nodding. "I believe it's the light, lithe, spry fellows who stand the best show of getting through the enemy's line."
"If all our smaller men were like you, I'd believe it, too, muttered
Brayton.
"But we haven't any more light men like you and Holmes, Prescott," broke in Spurlock from the adjoining table.
"I'm going to duck the team and quit playing," protested Dick, "if Holmesy and I are to be twitted about being wonders."
"But, honestly, Prescott" began Brayton, "you two are——-"