“It is sort of queer,” said Tom. “The way they tell it here, Grosfawk was the whole thing last year when they played us. This year you don’t hear anything about him.”
“He’s only a substitute, as I figure it,” remarked Clif. “You see him getting in now and then, but he’s never in the first line-up.”
“Maybe it’s strategy,” Tom offered. “Maybe they’re trying to make us think he’s not much so we won’t worry about him. Then they’ll start him, and he will run rings around us, like last year.”
“Well, I suppose Mr. Otis knows what’s doing,” said Loring. “Mr. Hilliard, and the fellows who went over yesterday to see Wolcott play, have probably brought back some dope.”
“‘Pinky’ is all right,” observed Tom, “but it seems to me that ‘G. G.’ ought to have gone himself. By the way, they say he didn’t come back to school.”
“Who, Pinky? I saw him at prayers this morning,” said Clif.
“No, you dumbbell, ‘G. G.’ Billy said he was feeling rotten about the time the game was over, and they stopped at a drug store afterwards and ‘G. G.’ got dosed up there, and then went on home. Back to-morrow, I suppose. Say, how badly was Fargo hurt? Anyone know?”
“You hear all sorts of yarns,” said Clif. “Guy Owens, the yellow haired fellow who helps manage, said that Fargo would be laid up most of the week. Then I heard that he got hurt in the same leg last year, and that the doctor told him he oughtn’t to play any more.”
“Imagine ‘Big Bill’ paying any attention to that,” chuckled Tom. “Well, we won’t need him next Saturday, I suppose. This High Point game is a cinch, they say. Guess he will be right there on both feet the week after!”