Meanwhile Tom and his chums tramped over the snow-covered campus, idly kicking the white flakes aside.
“Doesn’t look much like baseball; does it?” remarked Tom, as he made a snowball, and tossed it high in the air.
“No, but it can’t last forever,” declared Sid. “I say, did any of you hear anything more about having a track team, and going in for field athletics this Spring?”
“Only general talk,” replied Phil.
“There goes Dutch Housenlager,” spoke Frank. “Let’s see if he knows anything.”
“He’s got his back turned,” whispered Tom. “It’s a good chance to play a joke on him. Get in front of him, Sid, and be talking to him. I’ll sneak up, and kneel down in back. Then give him a gentle push and he’ll upset and turn a somersault over me.”
“Good!” ejaculated Phil. “It will be one that we’ve owed Dutch for a long time.”
The trick was soon in process of being played. While Sid held the big lad in earnest conversation, about the possibility of a track team for Randall, Tom silently knelt down behind him. Then Sid, seeing that all was in readiness, spoke:
“Have you seen the new style of putting the shot, Dutch?”
“Not that I know of,” replied the unsuspecting one. “How is it done?”