“It’s tough, old man,” spoke Phil, softly, “but maybe it will be best for old Randall in the end.”
“Best nothing! It never would have happened if we’d had you and Sid on the team.”
“Oh, yes, it might.”
But Tom would not have it so, and clung to the dispute until someone started an argument about the referee’s ruling on a certain point, and then the subject was quickly changed.
“Better come over and see the girls,” urged Phil again, as he walked along on his crutch. “Sid will want to know what they said, and you know he can’t get out for a couple of days.”
“Oh, all right,” Tom almost snapped.
“They won’t rub it in—they’ll know how we feel,” went on the quarter-back. And to the credit of Ruth, Madge and Mabel, be it said that though they were Fairview girls, and their college had downed Randall, which had not happened in a blue moon before, they never so much as “looked” the triumph they must have felt. They knew the bitterness of defeat, and—well, they were wise little damsels.
They talked of anything but football, though the reference to Phil’s injury and to Sid’s illness naturally verged on it. Then they got on safer ground, and, as Tom walked along with Ruth, while Phil had Madge Tyler on one side and Mabel Harrison on the other, the bitterness, in a measure, passed from them.
“We’ll do up Boxer Hall twice as bad!” predicted Tom.
“That’s right,” agreed Phil. “I’ll play then, and——”