“It was Gerhart,” declared Sid. “I saw him. I had a good notion to punch him for you.”
“I’d just as well you didn’t,” went on Tom. “There’s no love lost between us and his crony, Langridge, now. No use making matters worse. But he certainly managed the freshies well. That was a good trick, lying down and making a mat of themselves.”
“Yes; hereafter I suppose it will be the regular practice for future classes,” said Phil. “We’ll have to think up a new plan to break up that kind of interference. My, but I’m lame!”
“Better not let Lighton hear you say that.”
“Why?”
“He’d lay you off from football. There are three candidates for every position on the ’varsity this term, and we fellows who have made the eleven will have to take care of ourselves.”
“That’s so,” admitted Tom. “Well, a hot bath will fix me up, and then for some good sleep.”
“I wish I could snooze,” spoke Phil.
“Why can’t you?” asked Sid.
“I’ve got to bone away on Greek. Got turned back in class to-day, and Pitchfork, who’s a regular fiend at it, as well at Latin, warned me that I’d be conditioned if I didn’t look out.”