“Seems to me,” laughed Loring, “you chaps are mightily interested in games that don’t mean much to you. What about Wolcott’s showing against Riverside Military? It doesn’t make our score against Toll’s look so fine, eh?” “I guess Riverside’s pretty weak,” said Tom. “What’s she done this season, anyway?” “I don’t know much about her,” answered Loring, “but 41 to 0 is an awful score! It looks as if Wolcott might still have an edge on us, Tom. What I don’t understand, though, is about that fellow Grosfawk. He played only part of the time yesterday, and nothing is said about him. I thought he was Wolcott’s particular wonder, and that they were building a bunch of plays around him.” “It is sort of queer,” said Tom. “The way they tell it here, Grosfawk was the whole thing last year when they played us. This year you don’t hear anything about him.” “He’s only a substitute, as I figure it,” remarked Clif. “You see him getting in now and then, but he’s never in the first line-up.” “Maybe it’s strategy,” Tom offered. “Maybe they’re trying to make us think he’s not much so we won’t worry about him. Then they’ll start him, and he will run rings around us, like last year.” “Well, I suppose Mr. Otis knows what’s doing,” said Loring. “Mr. Hilliard, and the fellows who went over yesterday to see Wolcott play, have probably brought back some dope.” “‘Pinky’ is all right,” observed Tom, “but it seems to me that ‘G. G.’ ought to have gone himself. By the way, they say he didn’t come back to school.” “Who, Pinky? I saw him at prayers this morning,” said Clif. “No, you dumbbell, ‘G. G.’ Billy said he was feeling rotten about the time the game was over, and they stopped at a drug store afterwards and ‘G. G.’ got dosed up there, and then went on home. Back to-morrow, I suppose. Say, how badly was Fargo hurt? Anyone know?” “You hear all sorts of yarns,” said Clif. “Guy Owens, the yellow haired fellow who helps manage, said that Fargo would be laid up most of the week. Then I heard that he got hurt in the same leg last year, and that the doctor told him he oughtn’t to play any more.” “Imagine ‘Big Bill’ paying any attention to that,” chuckled Tom. “Well, we won’t need him next Saturday, I suppose. This High Point game is a cinch, they say. Guess he will be right there on both feet the week after!” “From what I get about yesterday’s merry little fracas, it was a regular humdinger,” said Clif. “I’d like to have seen it. Toll’s roughed it up considerable. One of her fellows was put out by the referee, they say.” “Sure it wasn’t the umpire?” asked Tom mildly. “Well, umpire then. Anyway, our bunch got pretty well bunged up. Raiford’s wearing plaster all over his face to-day.” “Must be an improvement,” said Tom. “I never did like Raiford’s face.”