"I have one," said Ward, "but it's a little warm to even practice to-day. It's better suited to rowing."
"Can't row when you haven't a shell," said Frank. "Get the ball, and we'll have a little fun anyhow."
Soon afterward twenty-two lads, who had donned old clothes, for there was not a football suit in the whole school, were kicking an old ball about, falling on it, running with it, and doing their best to play a regulation game. It was hard, as few save Frank, Andy and their two chums knew the rules, but they soon warmed up and were very much in earnest.
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Dr. Doolittle a short time after this, as he was crossing the campus with Professor Callum. "What are the boys doing?"
"Playing football it seems," answered the crabbed instructor with a sarcastic laugh. "They might better be at their studies."
"Oh, boys must play," said the good doctor with a sigh. "But I did not know they had an eleven. It is almost—like old times."
"It isn't a regular team," explained the professor. "I fancy it is some of the doings of those Racer boys."
"The more credit to them. They are manly chaps. I am sorry they were ill the other night."
"Ill!" exclaimed Mr. Callum. "They were——"
"Oh, yes, I remember now. You told me they were out after hours without permission. I can't understand it—can't understand it," and the doctor walked on, slowly nodding his head and thinking of many things, chief among which was where he could raise the money to pay many pending bills.