"All serene," answered Robin. "Hope you'll think the same when we're dry-rubbing you next Wednesday!"
He hurried his Merry Men out of the room, and then, as a parting shot, popped his head round the door to shout—
"Hot water-bottles and babies' comforters, this way! All dirty Squirms with stiff necks should grease 'em with goose-fat. Like cures like!"
CHAPTER XXV
The Merry Men Score Goals
In football garb the Squirms, on the whole, looked unimpressive. They had bulk, but it was beef without brawn. Some of them had so outgrown their togs that their arms stuck out sideways, in a grotesque semi-circular fashion. Others had fat faces, too, which turned unhealthily blue in the wind.
"What a mug's game it is," grumbled Grain. "We're prize idiots to appear at all."
"Couldn't honourably do otherwise," retorted Osbody.
"Honour be hanged! We're not heroes of a sporting novel. Look at the crowd of Foxes round the ropes. They've come to laugh at us!"
"Perhaps they'll cheer us before we've finished."