"I'd like to know just how strong Tottenville is on its right end of the line," mused Prescott.
"I don't care how strong they are," retorted Darrin, with a laugh. "You and I are not going to use strength; we're going to rely upon brains—-Coach Morton's brains, though, to be sure."
The two chums separated at the corner of the side street on which stood the Prescott bookstore and home. Dave hurried home to attend to some duties that he knew were awaiting him.
Dick, whistling, strolled briskly on. He saw Dodge and Bayliss on the other side of the street, but did not pay much attention to them until they crossed just before Dick had reached his own door.
"There's the mucker," muttered Bayliss, in a tone intentionally loud enough for the young left end to overhear.
"I won't pay any attention to them," thought Dick, with an amused smile. "I can easily understand what they're sore about. I'd feel angry myself if I had been left off the team."
"Why do fellows like that need an education?" demanded Dodge, in a slightly louder tone, as the pair came closer.
Still Dick Prescott paid no heed. He started up the steps, fumbling for his latch key as he went.
"You faker! You mucker!" hissed Bayliss, now speaking directly to the young left end.
This was so palpable that Dick could not well ignore it. Dropping the key back into his pocket, he turned to stare at the two "sorehead" chums.