Hearing a yell from the plain beyond, however, Holmes went over
to the window and looked out.
"Dick, old ramrod," exclaimed Cadet Holmes wistfully, "I wish
we stood well enough to be out on the football grill."
"So do I," muttered Dick. "But what's the with the goat section
overtaking us at double time?"
Greg sighed, then went back to his books.
For fifteen or twenty minutes both young men read on, trying to
fasten something of natural philosophy in their minds.
Now there came a quick knock, immediately after which the door
was flung open and Brayton marched in.
"See here, you coldfeet," began the captain of the Army eleven
sternly, "what do you two mean by staying in here and boning dry
facts?"
"Just to avoid being drowned in goat's milk," smiled Dick, turning
a page and looking up.
Brayton, regardless of these heroic efforts to study, threw one
leg across the corner of the study table.
"You two fellows came out, in the first work of the squad, and
did stunts that filled us all with hope," pursued Brayton severely.
"Then, suddenly, you failed to show up any more. And all this,
despite the fact that we have the poorest eleven the Army has
shown in six years."
"Only men well up in their academic work are allowed to play on
the eleven, replied Dick.
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