“I’ll bet worse things than that have happened to him at Andover, or wherever he is,” chuckled Fanning. “It doesn’t take long to find out a fellow who can’t stand a joke, and then every one has a whack at him. Garfield was a pill, anyway. I played left half that year on the scrub, and Garfield was always funking. Just let some one kick him in the shins and he was ready to quit. Talking about shins, fellows, I wish you’d see the peach that I’m wearing just now. Every time any fellow swings his stick it gets my left shin. I’ve got a regular map on it, with every state a different color. I’m thinking of getting a pair of leg-guards like Tucker wears. Those shin pads they give us aren’t any good. Casement doesn’t even know they’re there when he gets to slashing. I never saw a chap who could bang around with his stick the way he can, and get away with it. Some day though, he will make me lose my temper, and when he does he’s going to get something to remember.”
“Tut, tut,” said Halliday, soothingly. “What’s a crack on the shin between friends? Save your revenge, Fan, and work it off on Broadwood.”
“Yes, you’ll have Tony Spaulding to fight then,” said Arnold.
“Is he such a wonder?” asked Fanning.
“You saw him last year, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I didn’t think he was anything remarkable. He—”
“He scored six of their ten goals,” said Arnold. “That’s doing fairly well, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I dare say, but Henry let a lot of shots get by him that never ought to have been caged. Say, when’s Hen coming back? Lamson’s an awful frost as a goal-tend.”
“About two weeks from now, he thinks,” replied Halliday. “He flunked in German and got about a dozen conditions in other things.”
“Only a dozen?” asked Homer. “Well, if it takes him as long to make up as it’s going to take me he will be back about June.”