He took hold of Dick's arm in a brotherly fashion.
"It's all right—don't mention it old chap. It was no one's fault. I shouldn't have jumped in so quickly. I'm all right again. Come on, we'll finish the game."
"No, the time's about up," announced Teddy. "We've had enough for to-day. And it's been better practice than we've had in a long while. I guess we're all anxious to get on Hamilton's team."
"Hamilton's team?" asked Sam Porter, in a curious tone. "Since when has it been his eleven?"
"Oh, I forgot you hadn't heard the news," went on Teddy. "Why Dick is going to pay for two of the best coaches in the country, and we're going to have a team as is a team. That's why we all played so well to-day, I guess—even the scrub."
"Thanks!" exclaimed Tom Coleton. "We'll do you up good and proper to-morrow just the same."
"Not with Dick Hamilton's team," cried Teddy with a laugh.
"It isn't going to be my team at all," declared Dick, as he supported himself on Paul's shoulder and walked along, after his head had again been bathed in the cold water. "I don't want it known as that. I'm only doing what any fellow would do—putting up some cash to help out. It isn't my team at all."
"I should say not!" sneered Porter. "Hamilton's team—that sounds like playing favorites all right."
"Yes, if it keeps on this will be known as the Kentfield-Hamilton Military Academy," added his crony.