Fordham had lost two games, against exceptionally strong teams, earlier in the season, but had of late a fine record. Fordham had dropped several of its original players, putting in heavier or better men, and a new coach had been employed. The Fordham boys were now believed to be able to put up a strenuous game.
"I hope you're going to win, Prescott," said Mr. Macey, meeting Dick on the street one afternoon not long before Thanksgiving.
"Have you any doubts, sir?" smiled the captain of the Gridley team.
"Well, you see, Fordham was my native town. I run down there often, and I know a good deal of what's going on there. Fordham's second coach has attended the last two games you played, and he has been stealing all your points that he could get."
"He has, eh?" muttered Prescott. "That's news to me. Oh, well, it's legitimate to learn all you can about another team's play."
"From the reports Fordham has of your play the young men over in that town are certain that they're enough better to be able to bring your scalps into camp."
"Perhaps they'll do it," laughed Dick pleasantly. "We'll admit that we're about due for a walloping whenever the crowd comes along that can do it."
"I am only telling you what I hear from Fordham," continued Mr.
Macey.
"And I'm glad you did, sir. We'll try to turn the laugh on Fordham."
"Then you think you can beat 'em?"