“We won’t,” said Alf. “We never have in the school’s history. We’re bound to drop either track or baseball. Personally, I hope it will be track. Even then, though, we’d be doing ourselves proud, what?”
“We’ll be lucky if Broadwood doesn’t get track and baseball,” said Tom, piling his books up.
“Why? I thought we were pretty certain of the Duals,” said Alf. Tom shrugged his shoulders.
“Don’t see why. Just because we ran away with Broadwood last spring doesn’t mean that we’ve got an easy thing this year. She will work a whole lot harder, I guess. And we haven’t the men we had then. We’ve lost Wass in the hurdles, Bird in the quarter, Johnson and Fyles in the high jump, and two or three second-string fellows who might have made good this year. I guess we’ve got the sprints cinched without a doubt, but I’m not very easy in my mind regarding the field events.”
“Well, we know who will get first in the hammer,” laughed Alf.
“Meaning me? Perhaps; but if Broadwood gets enough seconds and thirds she may fool us.”
Gerald turned, listened, and then retired hurriedly from the grate.
“There’s Dan,” he said. There was a knock and the door swung open, admitting a disreputable figure in a dripping raincoat and a felt hat, from the down-turned brim of which drops of water trickled.
“Hello, you chaps! Fine day, isn’t it?”