"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."
Mr. Otis was not back the next day when the First got out for practice and Mr. Hilliard, his assistant, took
