“He got through between Bascome and me,” said the unlucky Snail.
“It wasn’t my fault,” declared the tackle. “He just pushed Sam over. It wasn’t my fault.”
“Well, it was somebody’s fault,” grumbled the captain, “and if it happens again, something else will happen.”
There was quite a jolly time after the game, in spite of the defeat of the military lads, and the left half-back, who had made the sensational run, and who had so nearly scored, was properly lionized.
“When are you going to have another little dance, girls?” asked Tom, of Ruth Clinton and her two friends.
“When you boys have another fire at Randall,” was the quick answer.
The little party of students had some refreshments together, and then, as a little shower came up, the crowd scurried for shelter, the girls going back to Fairview.
“Well, it was a pretty good game, all right,” remarked Tom, as he and his chums were walking down the corridor to their room.
“Pretty fair,” admitted Phil. “Hold on a minute, fellows; I want to see something.”
“What?” asked Tom.