“Just think what a jubilee the Park men will hold to-night when they hear the news! Oh, what can have gotten into the boys anyhow, to let these fellows get away with us?” said Dick Palmer bitterly.
“It is all clear enough to me,” I answered, “but it will do no good to talk about it.”
“Small chance we stand for the Crimson Banner now,” said somebody.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, let us get away and say no more,” I exclaimed, turning abruptly on my heel. “I can’t bear to think of it.”
We hurried into our omnibus, and, in silence, the three vehicles left the grounds that had been the scene of our disastrous encounter. Though probably much conversation took place in the other omnibuses that would have been unpleasant for us to hear, in our own very little was said. This was chiefly out of respect to poor Fred Harrison, who sat on the front seat, with his chin on his hand.
I was sitting next to Ray Wendell, so I took advantage of the opportunity to ask him in a low tone, unheard by the rest:
“Well, Ray, what do you think of it?”
“I can’t understand it,” he answered slowly. “Fred was so good in practice. He has disappointed me severely. I do not despair, for I think we can beat Park College yet, and there will be some satisfaction in that, but,” he added in a still lower tone, “we will have to make one change in the nine. That is settled.”
I nodded my head, for I understood him perfectly.
“I am very sorry for Fred, and I pity him sincerely now, for I know that he is fully aware of the blame that rests on him, and that he is correspondingly unhappy, but he must go. We can’t keep him on the nine a day longer. He has about ruined our chances now——”