"He can't waste the time," sang out Hen Dutcher derisively. "He has a job going a-heroing."
Tom Reade turned sharply, but this time there was no need of his darting at the tormentor. Six boys had promptly caught up Hen—two by the legs, two at the body and two more at the shoulders. Rushing Hen to the nearest tree, they promptly and soundly spanked him by the very simple method of holding his legs apart and swinging his body smartly against the tree-trunk.
"You kids think ye're smart!" growled Hen ruefully, as he rubbed himself.
"Everyone knows you're not, Hen," retorted one of the late spankers. "You're only stupidly fresh."
Hen quickly subsided and vanished.
"Yes; we ought to have football practice this afternoon," Dick answered, when the question was put to him again. "We have no time to lose if we're going to play this season. How many of you fellows have studied the rules?"
"I have," answered several.
"But, say," broke in one boy, "we can just as well give up the idea of having uniforms. We fellows can't raise the cash."
"Mrs. Dexter has offered to buy the uniforms," put in Greg incautiously.
"Has she?"