And so Joe had hopes and fears—hopes that his dream might come true, and fears lest the enmity of Hiram and Luke would keep him one of the “scrubbiest of the scrubs.”
He was tired after the excitement of the parade, and so was Tom, but they were not too weary to accept an invitation to gather in the room of Teeter and Peaches that night for a surreptitious lunch of ginger snaps, cheese and bottled soda water, which had been smuggled in. And, as before, the lads took the same precautions with the fake books and the tubes, hose and bottles. But they were not disturbed.
“Well, we’ll have to get busy next week,” remarked Teeter as he slowly sipped his glass.
“How so?” asked Joe.
“Hard practice against the scrub starts Monday.”
“Who’s captain of the scrub; did you hear?” asked Peaches eagerly.
“Yes, Ward Gerard—a nice fellow, too.”
“That’s the stuff!” cried Peaches. “Now there’s a chance for you, Joe. Ward’s room is on this corridor. I’m going to see him.”
“You’ll be caught,” warned Teeter.
“Caught nothing!” retorted his chum. “It’s so late none of the profs. or monitors will think a fellow will dare go out. Ward isn’t an early sleeper, and I’m going to see him and ask him to let Joe pitch on the scrub before some one else gets the place. I’ll be back in a few minutes, fellows. Don’t eat up all the grub,” and with that Peaches slipped noiselessly from the room.