“I agree with Dan Woodhouse,” remarked Frank, giving “Kindlings” his right name. “A neutral field will be fair to all. Well, if this weather keeps on we’ll be out practicing in a few weeks.”
But, though the weather did not bear out the promise of the first few warm days of Spring, there was still plenty of practice. The enthusiasm over a track meet grew, and many more lads than were expected put in an appearance at the gymnasium, to try out their skill over the hurdles, vaulting the bar, in hundred yard dashes, putting the weight, shot and hammer, while any number said they were going to try to qualify for the mile run, and the broad and high jumps.
Meanwhile, more or less correspondence went on among the athletic committees of the four institutions that naturally would form the new league, if matters came to a head. Exter was comparatively a new college, but she stood well to the fore in athletics.
The end of the Winter was at hand, when one night there came an unprecedented freeze. Tom and his chums awakened shivering in their quarters, for the window had been left open, and the thermometer was away down.
“Wow! Somebody turn on the heat!” cried Tom, poking his nose out from under the covers.
“It’s Phil’s turn,” declared Sid.
“It is not,” was the answer.
“I’ll toss you for it, Sid,” put in Frank, leaping out of bed, and reaching for his trousers to get a coin. “Call!”
“Heads!” shouted Sid.
“It’s tails,” declared the big Californian.