“He’s going to give us the afternoon off,” replied Ted. “Only morning practice tomorrow. You can thank me for it, Bert. It was my pretty little thought.” “He wouldn’t have seen me on the field tomorrow, anyway,” remarked Nick. “I’m going down to the junction to meet Guy at three-something. Come on with me.” “I wouldn’t make that trip in this weather for the King of England, much less Guy Murtha,” responded Bert impressively. “I’ll buy you ice cream,” tempted Nick. Bert shook his head. “Will you come, Ted?” asked Nick. “I will――not! I love Guy like a brother, _but_――――” “Oh, you fellows make me weary!” sighed Nick. “No sporting blood at all! No――――” “Is that your idea of sporting?” jeered Ted. “Get on a hot, stuffy little one-horse train and dawdle down to Needham Junction, four miles away, in something like half an hour? I’ve made that trip once this fall and, Fortune aiding me, I shan’t make it again!” “Come on to supper,” said Bert. “It’s almost a quarter of. It will be cooler over there on the steps than it is here, too.” “Just when I was beginning to get comfortable,” mourned Nick. “Say, Ted, did you do this last year?” “Sure! Do what?” “Come up for early practice.” “I did. And we had ten days of it last fall instead of only a week. You fellows needn’t kick!” “I do kick, though, Teddy, old scout! Look here, you! I gave up a whole week of the best sort of fun at Deal Beach to come up here and frizzle and fry in my juices and chase a contemptible football over a sun-smitten cow-pasture! Needn’t kick, eh? Why, man, back there there’s a nice cool breeze off the ocean and a band playing moosics and piles of eats and――and nothing to do but play around! And just because I’m――I’m patriotic enough and unselfish enough to leave all that you lie there like a ton of bricks and tell me I needn’t kick! I do kick! I’m kicking!” “I hear you,” murmured Ted. “Go on kicking. Nobody’s going to miss you if you go back to Deal Beach tomorrow. We could have got on well enough without you, anyhow. You were simply asked because we thought you’d feel hurt if you weren’t.” “I like your nerve!” gasped Nick. “My word! Who’s been doing the work for five days out there? Trying to get drive into you chaps is like pulling teeth! Why, you miserable sandy-haired――――” “Oh, come on,” begged Bert. “I’m getting hungry. Anyone want to wash up? Come along if you do. You’ll have to wipe your hands on your handkerchiefs, though. They haven’t given us any towels yet.” “What’s the good of washing if we’re going in swimming later?” asked Nick, sprawling off the window-seat. “Because for once, old son, you’re dining with gentlemen,” Ted answered, gripping the smaller youth by the shoulders and propelling him towards the door in the wake of Bert. “Honest?” wailed Nick. “I’d much rather dine with you, Ted!” CHAPTER II PLAYERS AND COACH