“Gerald,” said Alf sorrowfully, “I’m afraid that’s not a Christian spirit. You should—er—love your enemy.”
“Oh, I love him better now,” laughed Gerald, holding out his hand to be helped up. “I guess I’ve got even with him for keeping me out of Cambridge last year, haven’t I?”
“You have,” said Tom. “Get your bath robe and come on home. You fellows trot along and see Payson, if you want to; I’ll go back with the kid.”
[CHAPTER II]
HILTZ ENTERS A PROTEST
When they had crossed the bridge the four talked a while of the comet and then Dan and Alf turned to the right toward the little buff house wherein Payson, the football coach, had his lodgings, and Tom and Gerald kept on in the direction of the school. Ahead of them was a straggling line of fellows whose eager voices reached them crisply on the morning air.
“Aren’t you tired?” asked Tom with a solicitous glance at the younger boy. Gerald shook his head.
“Not a bit, Tom. You see, I’ve been at it ever since school opened. It’s wonderful the way practice brings you along. Why, when I started out I used to lose my breath in the first mile! Now I think I could run six miles and not get much winded. And you ought to see how my chest is expanding!”
“If Alf were here,” laughed Tom, “he’d tell you that was due to boxing!”