“That won’t go with Jud,” said Blash, shaking his head. “Still, I don’t believe Sandy will blab. What say, Gus? Oh, he was sort of peeved over something that happened.” Blash turned to Gus Stone, who was leaning over the back of the seat. “You know how Sandy is. Thinks fellows are trying to put something over on him.” “What was it?” persisted Stone, smiling broadly in anticipation. “Why, nothing much, really. It was all--a mistake.” Blash looked as innocent as a new-born babe. “You see, Rusty offered to introduce Sandy to a friend of his at Phillipsburg whose room overlooked the football field so that Sandy wouldn’t have to pay to see the game, and by accident they got into the wrong room and Rusty went out to look for his friend and thoughtlessly locked the door behind him. Of course, when the fellow who lived there got back and found Sandy, he was surprised! And Sandy has got it into his head that Rusty put up a job on him. Which just shows, Gus, that even with the best intentions in the world you sometimes go wrong!” “Warne! Warne!” called a trainman. “Change for Sturgis, Bradfield, Seppit’s Mill and points on the Westfield Branch! Wa-a-arne!” CHAPTER XV CAPTAIN PETERS ENTERTAINS Dick received his meed of praise for his part in securing Parkinson’s victory over Phillipsburg, but naturally the greater credit went to Findley, as it should have. Dick found, however, on the following Monday that he had become of a little more importance on the gridiron. Billy Goode was most solicitous as to his condition and Coach Driscoll was a little bit “fussy” over him. He saw plenty of hard work, however, for Gus Stone and Cardin, together with several others, were excused from practice that afternoon. Dick and Pryne were kept busy and when the Second Team came over for a scrimmage it was Dick to whom fell the honour of generaling the First. The team made hard sledding that day, and the Second put over a touchdown and a safety in the first half and made her opponent hustle in the second half to win. The substitutes acted stale and were slower than cold molasses, to use Gaines’ metaphor, and even Dick, who had certainly not been overworked on Saturday, found it hard to put snap into his play. Perhaps the weather had something to do with it, for the day was mild and misty and even the ball felt heavy.