chance! You make me weary, you gang of grouches!"
Fudge was a hero just now and his words were hearkened to with respect. An uncertain murmur of approval followed, and some laughter, and Grover said: "I guess that's so, fellows. Let's leave Lovering alone. Anyway, I'm going home. Who's coming along?"
And so, although the Scrub triumphed that day, the Varsity trailed home with a third defeat pinned to it, and the school was at first incredulous, then disgusted and, finally, resentful. Explanations and excuses didn't satisfy. A few fellows who had journeyed to Corwin and witnessed the game declared that hard luck and not poor work had been to blame for the defeat; that on merit Clearfield should have conquered by at least one score. The school at large listened but was unconvinced. "Beaten again!" it said. "Three games lost out of five played! What sort of a team have we got, anyway? What's Dick Lovering think he's doing? Playing 'give-away'?"
There had been extenuating circumstances, however, whether the fellows were willing to believe it or not. Clearfield had distinctly outplayed her opponent in three of the four periods, had gained
