“Try to forget it then,” Toby advised. “You looked like a sick cow. Say, you—you didn’t get a blow on the head this afternoon, did you? Sometimes an injury of that sort—But no, it wouldn’t affect you that way. That dome of yours would just give forth a hollow sound——”
“Listen,” interrupted Arnold earnestly. “If Curran is out of the game for the rest of the season, why, don’t you see what might happen?”
“Yes, we might get licked by Broadwood. Still, we may anyhow, so what’s the good of——”
“Oh, use your bean! We’ll have to find a substitute for Noyes, of course! Maybe Mr. Lyle will try Clarke. Sim’s not much of an end, and he played quarter some last year. But then again he might go to the Second for what he needs.”
“Who, Clarke?”
“No, Mr. Lyle, you ninny. And if he did he might pick you, T. Tucker!”
“Yes, and he might not,” jeered Toby. “Frick’s got first call, you poor old dummy.”
“I’m not so sure! I’ve heard that you were doing just as good work as Frick, Toby.”
“Oh, you hear a lot of things if you let your ears flap,” answered Toby rudely.