hung up the receiver and faced the others with gloomy countenance.
"Wouldn't that make you sick?" he demanded. "Corwin won!"
There was an instant of silence. Then, "Who says so?" demanded McCoy incredulously.
"I called up Castle's. They got it by telephone from Corwin. Twelve to ten. What do you know about that?"
Grover kicked disgustedly at a bench.
A chorus of dismay arose. "Twelve to ten? How'd we make ten?" "Touchdown, goal and field-goal, of course." "Isn't that the limit? Say, they ought to let us play instead of the Varsity!" "We haven't won a game since Methuselah was in rompers!" "Wait till you hear them roast Lovering! Wow! I wouldn't be in his shoes for anything!" "Did they say anything about it, Jim?"
"No, they just heard the score, that's all. Gee, I wish Lovering would quit his kindergarten stuff and let us spring some plays! We never will win a game with the sort of things he gives us!"
"Well, that comes of putting a fellow who doesn't know football in as coach," declared Burns. "It's up to Lanny White, all right."
