“I have, but after the way things went to pieces in the last inning I don’t know what to think.”
“Oh, bosh! If you’d had anything like decent support it never would have happened. Hutchinson muffing that ball started us down hill.”
“That’s what!” chimed in Jimmie Lee, coming along just then. “This is only one game—the fortunes of war. We’ll beat ’em next time; wallop Princeton, and take the championship.”
“West Point is next on the list,” went on Joe. “I wonder what sort of a game they play?”
“Like clockwork,” explained Spike. “I saw one, once, and they put it all over Yale. But we’ve got to win this one.”
“That’s what!” declared Jimmie. “I say, I know a nice place where we can get a dandy rabbit. Let’s stay over to-night. I can stand some cuts, we’ll take in a show, and have supper after it. Come on, and we can go to New Haven in the morning.”
“No, I guess I’ll go back with the team,” said Joe, slowly. “They might think I was trying to dodge if I sneaked off. I’ll go back with the rest.”
“All right—then we’ll go to Glory’s and have a feed,” insisted Jimmie. “I’ve got to do something to raise my spirits.”
They went to the dressing rooms, and soon the players and their friends were moving to the hotel where they had stopped.