“Tommyrot, Paddy!” answered Dave. “Joel March isn’t infallible, and the team may take a big brace before Thanksgiving.”
“Who’s Joel March, anyway?” asked Wayne.
“Joel March? Why, Joel March is—is— Say, haven’t you ever heard of March?” exclaimed Dave, in deep disgust. Wayne shook his head.
“I reckon not; if I have I’ve forgotten it. What did he do—run a mile in eighteen and three-fourth seconds or throw an iron ball over Academy Building?”
“Neither, my sarcastic and ignorant young friend from the Sunny South,” answered Paddy, with asperity. “But he’s the finest half-back in college; and if you knew anything about the important affairs of the day you would know that he made the only score in the Harwell-Pennsylvania game last Saturday, and that he ran over fifty-five yards to do it! Also, and likewise, and moreover,” continued Paddy, with great severity, “when I was a little green junior, two years ago, I sat just about here and watched Joel March kick a goal from the field that tied the St. Eustace game after they had us beaten. And I yelled myself hoarse and couldn’t speak loud enough at dinner to ask for the turkey, and Dave ate my share before my eyes! That’s who Joel March is.”
“You don’t say,” responded Wayne, without displaying the least bit of awe. “And who’s the swell with him?”
“That’s West, his chum. West is the father of golf here at Hillton,” answered Dave, with becoming reverence. “I used to follow him when he went around and wish that I could drive the way he could. He was a member of the team that Harwell sent to the intercollegiate tournament last month. Is March going to coach the backs, Paddy?”
“Don’t know; but they could stand it. There’s going to be a shake-up next half, I’ll bet. Gardiner says if the second scores on us again before Thanksgiving he’ll send it to Marshall instead of the first. Gardiner’s a great jollier. Here we go again like lambs to the slaughter,” added Paddy as the whistle blew.
“You remind me of a lamb,” said Dave; “you’re so different.”
Paddy playfully pommeled the other’s ribs and then cantered off to the center of the gridiron, where Gardiner, Greene, and March, the old Hillton half-back, were assembled in deep converse.