"I'm not so sure the 'Reflector' will touch very heavily on recent sporting matters," answered Dave, smiling.
"Is Phelps in the room?"
Tom Clifton's gruff voice rose clearly.
"Sure! Just came in. What's the row?" answered a voice.
"Who told you what Mr. Barry said?"
Phelps pushed his way between the groups toward the players.
"Everybody. No one caught his exact words, but they must have been something pretty hot. There are enough rumors floating around to hurt your eyes if they could be seen. It's been a fierce day, hasn't it?"
When Tom Clifton walked home that evening he passed the field for the use of which the club was fighting.
It had never looked more alluring. He stopped to gaze over its broad green expanse with wistful eyes. His glances wandered from one no-trespassing sign to another. They looked much more formidable now than they ever had before.
"Great Scott!" murmured Tom. "What a beginning—four to nothing!"