say," remarked Tom, as he glanced over the sporting pages of a paper. "I see that they're trying some new kicking game at Boxer."
"Yes, they're always after fads," declared Phil. "But straight football, with some of the old-fashioned line bucking, such as we play, and two halves, are good enough for me."
"Same here," agreed Sid.
"I guess nothing will come of that law business before the final game, eh, fellows?" went on Tom, who seemed anxious about it.
"No danger of a decision from the courts right away," said Frank. "From what I can hear, our lawyers are going to get back at Langridge and his partner in some new kind of an injunction or a lis pendis or a whang-doodle. That may make it look like a white horse of another color."
They talked of football and the legal tangle at some length, and were deep in a discussion about a certain wing-shift play, when tramping footsteps were heard down the corridor.
"Holly Cross," ventured Sid.
"Dutch Housenlager or—an elephant," predicted Tom. "He walks as though he had his football shoes on."
"Perhaps he's coming to suggest another trick on the proctor or Pitchfork," suggested Phi!, for the latest attempt of Dutch was a standing joke against the fun-loving student.
