A derisive shout went up.
"Fellows, they were very good——"
"Yes, they were!"
"Fellows, they were re-markably good—but they didn't beat the old school team! That's all."
He dove headlong into the crowd, unaware that he had repeated for the sixth time the stock oration of the evening.
"Good old Dink! Good old Rinky Dink!"
The cry stuck in his memory all through the jubilant night and long after, when in his delicious bed he tossed and worried over the tackles he had missed.
"It's a bully nickname—bully!" he repeated drowsily, again and again. "It sounds as though they liked you! And Tough McCarty, what a bully chap—bully! We're going to be friends—pals—what a bully fellow! Everything is bully—everything!"
With the close of the football season and the advent of December, with its scurries of snow and sleet, what might be termed the open season for masters began.