"Silly asses, booting a ball about with only themselves to score against," scoffed Grain, cracking a walnut between his teeth.
"Going by the fuss they make, you'd think it was a match for the World's Championship," said Niblo, a boy who never wasted pocket-money on regular haircutting.
Practically every Squirm had some skittish comment of this character to make. As a body they hated football. Much more in their line was it to go marching about the premises, annoying the servants and "ragging" inoffensive youngsters. In this way they missed a lot of fresh Foxenby air, which would have done them a world of good.
Osbody, leader of the Squirms, had outdoor ambitions this afternoon, however. The departure of Robin and his Merry Men in the direction of the football field had given him an idea.
"Boys," he said, "is there any reason why one gang of Foxes, more than any other, should have the Shrubbery all to itself?"
"Not a bit!"
"Confounded cheek on their part!"
"Old Man Wykeham ought to stop it!"
"Ours as much as theirs!"
"We're all in one mind about it," said Osbody. "So, as Arkness and his band of bounders are off leather-chasing, what's to prevent us having a bit of sport ourselves under the greenwood tree?"