“I’m sure they’ll uphold my contention,” he declared. “I’m an amateur, and I can prove it!”
“But it will be too late for any use,” spoke Tom mournfully.
Words of sympathy had come from the girls, and Tom and his chums were duly grateful for them. It developed that neither Boxer Hall nor Fairview were in favor of forcing the issue against Randall, but that Exter, with perhaps exaggerated notions as to what constituted “amateur” sport, had taken the initiative. Still Randall’s lads did not complain.
It was the night before the big games. Gathered in the room of the inseparables were our old friends, Holly, Kindlings, Dutch, and a few other kindred spirits.
“Well, it’s all over but the shouting,” said Dutch, in mournful tones. “To-morrow will tell the tale.”
“Get out, you old croaker!” cried Kindlings.
“We’re going to win! I’m sure of it!”
“If we had another week, I believe we would,” asserted Holly. “Tom and Sid could pull up by then. I’m almost tempted to telephone, even at this late day, and ask for a postponement. We’re entitled to it, under the circumstances.”
“Oh, forget it,” advised Phil. “Be a sport! Play the game!”