“I don’t know about all of ’em,” replied the quarter-back, “but Ruth and Madge are coming.”
“Since when have you been calling her ‘Madge’?” asked Tom, with a sharp look at his chum.
“Since she gave me permission,” was the answer, and Phil booted the pigskin well down the field.
“And how long is that?”
“What difference does it make to you?” and there was a shade of annoyance in Phil’s voice.
“Nothing, only I—er—well—— There they come!” cried Tom suddenly, but it was not to the girls that he referred. The Boxer Hall team had just trotted out, to be received with a round of cheers from their partisans.
“Husky-looking lot,” observed Ed Kerr, as he and the other Randall players gazed critically at their opponents.
“They are that,” conceded Bricktop Molloy, one of the biggest guards who ever supported a center.
“I’m afraid they’ll do us,” came from Snail Looper, who was not of a very hopeful turn of mind.
“Nonsense! Don’t talk that way, me lad!” objected Bricktop, lapsing into brogue, as he always did when very much in earnest. “Just because they’re a lot of big brutes doesn’t argue that we can’t smash through them. Omnis sequitur, you know.”