“I hope you win, Dick,” said Sam, “And it’s a pity you didn’t get on the gridiron, Tom,” he continued.

“Oh, I’ll get on, sooner or later,” answered Tom with a grin.  “Football is no baby play, and somebody is bound to get hurt.”

“You’re not wishing that, are you?” asked Songbird.

“No, indeed!  But I know how it goes.  Haven’t I been hurt myself, more than once?”

The football game was to take place at Brill, on the athletic field, and the college students were privileged to invite a certain number of their friends.  The Rovers promptly invited Dora, Nellie and Grace, and it was arranged that Sam should see to it that the girls got there.

“Sam will have as good a time as anybody,” said Tom.  “He’ll have the three girls all to himself.”

“Well, you can’t have everything in this world,” replied the youngest Rover with a grin.  “I guess football honors will be enough for you this time.”

“If we win,” put in Dick.  “I understand Roxley has a splendid eleven this season.  They won out at Stanwell yesterday, 24 to 10.”

“I hear they are heavier than we are,” said Tom.  “At least ten pounds to the man.  That is going to count for something.”

At that moment William Philander Tubbs came up.  He was attired, as usual, in the height of fashion, and sported a light gold-headed cane.

“For gracious sake, look at Tubby!” exclaimed Sam.  “Talk about a fashion plate!”

“Hello, Billy boy!” called out Tom.  “Going to make a social call on your washerwoman?”

“No.  He’s going to town to buy a pint of peanuts,” said Sam.

“I thought he might be going to a funeral-dressed so soberly,” added Dick, and this caused a general laugh, for Tubbs was attired in a light gray suit, patent leathers with spats, and a cream-colored necktie, with gloves to match.

“How do you do?” said William Philander politely, as if he had not seen the others in the classrooms an hour before.  “Pleasant day.”

“Looks a bit stormy to me,” answered Dick, as he saw several sophomores eyeing Tubbs angrily.  It was against the rule of Brill for a freshman to carry a cane.

“Stormy, did you say?” repeated the dude in dismay.  “Why, I—­ah—­thought it very fine, don’t you know.  Perhaps I had better take an—­ah—­umbrella instead of this cane.

“It would be much safer,” returned Dick significantly.

“But I—­ah—­don’t see any clouds,” went on William Philander, gazing up into the sky.

“They are coming,” cried Tom.

“Stand from under!” called out Sam.

And then the “clouds” did come, although not the kind the dude anticipated.  Six sophomores came up behind Tubbs, and while two caught him by the arms a third wrenched the gold-headed cane from his grasp.

“Hi! hi!  Stop that, I say!” cried William Philander in alarm.  “Let me alone!  Give me back my cane!”