“Oh, you’ll make it, whether you have or not,” retorted Frank. “You’re getting it bad.”
“Dry up!” ordered Sid sententiously.
They left their suit cases in the dressing rooms assigned to them, and started across the field toward the stand where they hoped to see Ruth Clinton and her chums.
As they walked along Tom started, and stared toward a section of the crowd.
“What’s up?” asked Phil.
“I—I thought I saw Shambler,” spoke Tom in a low voice.
“Nonsense! He wouldn’t dare show his face here,” said Phil.
“I guess not,” agreed Tom, and he dismissed the matter.
“Here we are!” cried Ruth, as she spied her brother and his friends. “And we haven’t got your colors, either.”