"Well, you're a cool lot!" growled Benny, in disgust. "Haven't you anything to say, T. Vanitas?"
A few weeks before, Tom Clifton would probably have made a hot retort, adding a few remarks which might have been twisted into something highly boastful. Now, however, he merely shook his head, and answered with a smile:
"No news for the note-book, Benny."
"Oh, you're a peacherino. I thought you'd go over and scatter that howling mob single-handed. I can see Brown has your number."
"Benny is agitated," laughed Alf Boggs.
"Who wouldn't be when a chap's lifelong friends are given such an awful sack? And I kept on hollering and hollering 'Hooray for Somers!' I did so, Fred Benson. Ask Parksy. Say, for his size, he has the biggest fist in school. Going to sell your uniforms, fellows? I know a good second-hand dealer. You won't fight this thing, will you, Somers?"
"There's nothing to fight, Benny."
"Oh, my, oh, my! If 'Crackers' should ever hear that! I'm going to tell him. Hooray! Guess that means a bigger scrap than ever. Look at this bunch of hotheads coming over. Get ready to run."
Shouts and songs rising on the air and constantly growing louder announced the approach of the crowd.
Rather fearful that some impetuous students might feel inclined to stir up more excitement, Coach Steele stopped further practice.