"
The suggestion was carried out at once.
"I'll drive along fast, if you want," proposed the driver, "and
get the togs down to the grounds ahead of your team."
"If you please," nodded Dick. "Our boys will want everything
ready when they reach the grounds."
So the two chums were quickly carried beyond the noise and confusion.
A few minutes later the wagon turned in at the Fordham Athletic
grounds.
The Fordham High School boys were out in the field, practicing.
As seen in their padded togs they were an extra-bulky looking
lot.
"Great Scott!" grunted Darrin, half disgustedly. "Each one of
those Fordham fellows must weigh close to a ton."
"The more weight the less speed, anyway," laughed Dick good-humoredly.
"And, look! I wonder how old some of those fellows are," continued
Darrin. "I wonder if, in this town, men wait until they've made
their fortunes and retired, before they enter High School. Why,
some of these Fordham fellows must have voted for president the
last two times."
"Hardly as bad as that, I guess," smiled Prescott. "Still, these
Fordham boys do look more like a college eleven than a High School
crowd."
Dave continued to gaze over at the home team, and to scowl, until
the wagon was halted before dressing quarters. Here the teamster
and another man made short work of carrying in all the tog-bags.
A few minutes later the other fellows arrived.
"Say, which team is it we're fighting to-day?" demanded Hudson.
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