"Um!" was his only comment for a moment. Then he said: "Well, he didn't soften it any. But how about it; isn't it almost true?"
"That's what I say," cried Paul Drew.
"We haven't a very good team, that's a fact," admitted Jim Watkins, who played centre.
"Oh, bosh! You fellows make me tired," declared Innis. "You are almost as bad as Anderson."
"Well, we ought to perk up."
"Oh pshaw! We can play all right."
"All we need is practice."
"And a little harder work against the scrub."
These and other comments flew back and forth. Dick Hamilton strolled toward an easy chair near a table. Casually he picked up a paper, and glanced over it as the discussion waxed warmer. There were two sides, one set of cadets holding that the eleven was not so bad, and the others maintaining that the players should not shut their eyes to facts, but endeavor to correct their faults. Both factions numbered members of the team, so it could not be said that prejudice shaped the opinions.
"Well, what do think about it, Dick?" asked Paul at length, as he sat down beside his roommate.