“Two weeks from today. We haven’t got a show this year, fellows.” Sandy as usual was sadly pessimistic.
“Oh, get out!” said The Fungus. “We’ll wipe the gridiron up with the Hall. You wait and see!”
“Oh, I’ll wait all right, and I’ll see,” answered Sandy gloomily. “I’ve seen before. The trouble with the House Team is that it never has any team-play.”
“You’re a croaker,” said Spud disgustedly. “Come on over, fellows, and let’s get busy. Gee, I’d work Saturdays and every other old day if it meant a win over Hall this year!”
They trooped off through the park together half an hour later. Clara, although he couldn’t play on the House Team and had not attempted to get a place on one of the Junior elevens, was an enthusiastic partisan and followed practice faithfully every day. At three o’clock the two gridirons were sprinkled with players, House and Hall working diligently in preparation for the coming battles. Brooks, or Brooksie as he was called, was captain of the House Team. He was a tall, well-built fellow of seventeen, an excellent leader and a good player. At practice he was somewhat of a martinet and, as Spud said once, could get more work out of a fellow than a slave-driver. This afternoon drill was harder and longer than usual. Cal did his best, but before practice was half over had decided that he would never make a football player. Something that added to his discouragement was a calling-down by Brooks.
“I say, Boland,” said Brooks, “this isn’t an afternoon tea, you know. Don’t you come out here again dressed like that. Why haven’t you got your togs on? Too lazy to change, were you?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, but darted away to lecture a back who was dropping too many punts. Cal looked after him mutinously and made up his mind then and there that was positively his last appearance on the football field. He was mistaken, but he didn’t know it.
He had to skimp his shower-bath in order to get back to West House in time to keep his appointment at the hedge at half-past five. He didn’t particularly want to keep it, but he was afraid not to. When he thought what might happen if Doctor Webster learned of the raid on the apple orchard he was ready and willing to do most anything to placate the Obnoxious Kid. She was there waiting for him.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m afraid you’re late.”
She had squirmed through the lilac hedge and was leaning against the picket fence in full view of West House. Cal wished she had kept out of sight. He didn’t exactly know why he objected to being seen there in conversation with her, but he did object and showed it by his restlessness and evident desire to be gone. Molly, observing this, prolonged matters dreadfully.