suggestions that, passed on to Coach Babcock, had been adopted to the betterment of the Scrub. Tom had acknowledged to Clif no later than Saturday that Loring was really being of use!
"Say," demanded Tom anxiously when Clif had closed the door behind them, "what's on your mind, Loring?"
"What's on yours?" asked Loring smilingly.
Tom groaned. "Not a thing in the world, old son! Nothing but the trifling recollection of having been licked 23 to 0 this afternoon. Come on! Spill it! I know you've got some sort of dope."
"Well, I know one reason why you got beaten so badly, Tom."
"What is it?"
"First jumped you every time."
"O Sacred Ibis of the River Nile!" wailed Tom. "Is that the best you can do? Listen, Loring. Strange as it may sound to you, quite a few of us guessed that about five hours ago!"
"And did you also guess why?" asked Loring sweetly.
"We guessed, yes, but they were rotten guesses. Do you know?"
"I think I do. The answer is 'Jackson.'"
"Sim? How do you mean?" Tom sat up straight and opened his eyes widely.
"Didn't you notice that after the first few minutes of the second period you fellows began to make your plays go?"
