"The Mayflower wasn't wrecked, you chump!" cried Tom.
"Well, what of it? Something happened to it, anyhow. It was stranded, or ran ashore, or else people landed from it. I never can keep those things straight in my head. At any rate, the chair is quite a relic, and I wish we had it back."
"I'm with you," declared Tom, feelingly. "I could just curl up in it in comfort to-night."
"Only you won't," retorted Phil.
"Nor yet listen to the clock tick," added Sid. "Now, let's talk of something else."
"Football," suggested Phil, quickly. "What do you fellows think about our chances, anyhow?"
"Not much," asserted the end. "Sam and Pete aren't doing as well as they used to do on the scrub."
"Stage fright, maybe," came from Sid.
"It's likely," admitted the quarter-back. "I remember when I first played on the 'varsity, I couldn't seem to see straight, I thought I was going to miss every tackle I tried for, and I was mortally afraid of dropping the ball. They'll get over it."
"I hope so," spoke Tom. "I wish Bascome wasn't playing on my end."
"Why?" asked Phil, quickly.
