“That’s worse still,” said Martin. “I don’t see why faculty needs to be so blamed mean. It wouldn’t hurt them any to let us look at the old game!”
“Think they would if we all went and asked?” inquired Willard. “Doctor McPherson isn’t a bad sort.”
“He’s all right,” answered Cal grudgingly, “but some of the others are pills. I’d say—”
“We might try it,” interrupted Bob eagerly. “I’ll go if the rest of you will!”
“I’ll go,” said Martin promptly. “He can’t any more than turn us down. Gee, listen to that cheer! They’re certainly humping themselves over there tonight!”
“We’ll all go,” said Bob. “I suppose it’s too late tonight. Let’s do it right after breakfast. I don’t see why he shouldn’t, fellows.”
“Nor I,” growled Cal, “but he won’t!”
Long after midnight had rung out Willard called cautiously across the darkness: “Mart, you awake?”
“Yes, I can’t seem to get to sleep.”
“Same here,” sighed Willard. He thumped his pillow and dug his head into it again. “Gee, you’d think I was going to play tomorrow from the way I don’t get sleepy!”