"Who's got Porter's place?"
"Hal Foster—a good fellow, too."
The throng surged about the bulletin board, newcomers arriving every minute, and all the cadets making various observations as they were pleased or disappointed. Teddy Naylor was not in sight. He had heard the news, and in the bitterness of his heart he kept to himself for a while.
Yet he did not complain. Teddy played the game fairly, and he was a loyal son of Kentfield. He was willing to defer to the judgment of the coaches—yet no one but himself knew how he longed to be among the first squad, and with a grim setting of his lips he resolved to make it before the big games were played.
"Well, come on," invited Paul to Dick. "I'll treat you to a soda on the strength of this."
"Don't you think it will put us out of training?"
"One can't. We've got to celebrate in some way."
The two chums strolled across the campus arm in arm, toward a spot where an enterprising dealer, well aware of the desire for sweets on the part of the students, had set up a little confectionery shop.
As Paul and his chum neared it they saw, walking toward them, Porter and Weston. The cronies were talking earnestly together.
"I wonder if Porter's heard?" ventured Paul.