“I knew we’d get licked,” muttered Lanny. “We must have played a solid-ivory sort of game, Chester!”
“You ought to hear the fellows roasting the team afterwards,” chuckled Fudge, struggling with another spoonful of ice-cream. “Dick, too. They say he didn’t more than half try to win. He put in six subs in the last half. What sort of a way is that?”
“I take it you didn’t get in,” said Chester, sarcastically.
“I’m on the Scrub,” replied Fudge, untroubledly. “Bet you I could have done as well as Thad Brimmer did, though. How was the Springdale game, Lanny?”
“Pretty good,” Lanny replied absently. “Six to nothing, Springdale. Well, I must be getting on. See you later, Chester.”
Chester nodded and Lanny went out. “He feels pretty bad about it, I guess,” said Chester.
“He’d have felt worse if he’d been here and seen it,” replied Fudge, philosophically. “It was p, u, n, k, punk!”
“Say, for goodness sake, what sort of a mess is that you’re eating?” asked Chester, his curiosity at last demanding satisfaction.
“This?” asked Fudge, stirring his spoon about in the glass and watching the resultant blending of colors with admiring eyes. “This is what I call an Opalescent Dream.”