“Gee, I’ll bet that was a big relief to him,” said Steve Edwards.  “I feel sort of sorry for those burglars, fellows.  They haven’t a ghost of a show now.”

Amy smiled tolerantly.

After that the conversation got around to the absorbing subject of football and stayed there until the gathering broke up.  There was some discussion of yesterday’s contest, but more of the next Saturday’s game with Morgan’s School.  Morgan’s was a new opponent on Brimfield’s schedule and not a great deal was known about its prowess.  Black thought, or pretended to think, that the Maroon-and-Grey was in for a beating, but couldn’t give any very convincing reasons.

“Oh, piffle,” grunted Still, “who ever heard of Morgan’s School until you put it on the schedule, Tracey?”

“I didn’t put it on.  Lawrence did, naturally.  And it’s silly to say that no one ever heard of Morgan’s.  Just because it isn’t near New York you think it can’t possibly be any good!”

“Where is it, anyway?” inquired Tom Hall.

“Manningsville, Delaware,” replied the manager.  “It’s a whopping big school, with about three hundred fellows, and last year they licked about everyone they met up with.”

“Time, then, they came up here and saw a real team,” said Marvin.  “Bet you we score twice as much as they do, Tracey.”

“Bet you we don’t!  Bet you the sodas for the crowd!”

“Got you,” answered Marvin, pulling Still’s pillow further under his head where he lay sprawled on the bed.  “Get your mouths fixed, fellows.  Mr. Black’s treat!”

“What do you think, Jack?” asked Edwards.

“Shucks, I don’t know anything about it.  And I don’t see that it matters.  If we beat them, all right; if they beat us, all right.  The main thing is to play the best we know how and get as much fun and profit as we can out of the game.  I don’t care a brass tack about any of the games except Claflin and Chambers.  I would like to beat Chambers, after the way they mussed us up last year.  By the way, fellows, I got word from Detweiler this morning and he says he will come about the first of November and put in a week or so on the tackles and ends.  That’s bully news, isn’t it?”

Several agreed enthusiastically that it was, but Gilbert, a second team substitute, who was a protege of Marvin’s, asked apologetically who Detweiler was.

“Joe Detweiler was all-America tackle on the Princeton team last year,” responded Captain Innes, “and the year before that, too.  He was captain here five years ago.”

“Oh, that Detweiler!” said Gilbert.  “I didn’t know!”

“Your ignorance pains me sorely, Gilbert,” said Amy.  “You could be excused for not recalling the name of the President, for not knowing whether Thomas Edison or J.P.  Morgan built the first steamboat or whether Admiral Dewey was a hero or a condition of the weather, but, Gilbert, not to know Detweiler proves you hopeless.  I’m sorry to say it, but your mind is evidently of no account whatever.  Detweiler, you poor benighted nut, is a Greek of the Grecians!  He has a chest measurement of ninety-eight inches under-all!  His biceps are made of Harveyised steel and his forceps—­”