As he sat, enveloped in a penumbra of gloom, the campus entrance door of
Bannister Hall, the Senior dorm., opened suddenly, and T. Haviland Hicks,
Jr., that happy-go-lucky youth, came out cautiously, after the fashion of a
second-story artist, emerging from his crib with a bundle of swag, the
last item being represented by a football tucked under Hicks' left arm.
Beholding Butch Brewster on the Senior Fence, the sunny-souled Senior
exhibited a perturbation of spirit seeming undecided whether to beat a
retreat or to advance.
"Now what's ailin'
you?" demanded Butch wrathily, believing the
pestersome Hicks to be acting in that burglarious manner for effect. "Why
should
you sneak out of a dorm., bearing a football like it was an auk's
egg? Why, you resemble a nigger, making his get-away after robbing a
hen-roost! Don't torment me, you accident-somewhere-on-its-way-to-happen. I
feel about as joyous as a traveling salesman who has made a town and gotten
nary a order!"
"It's
awful!" soliloquized T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., perching beside the
despondent Butch on the Senior Fence. "I am not a fatalist, old man, but
it
does seem that fate hasn't destined Thor to play football for old
Bannister this season! Here, after he won the Ham game, and we expected him
to waltz off with Ballard's scalp and the Championship, he has to tumble
downstairs! Oh, it's tough luck!"
It was two days before the biggest game, with Ballard--the contest that
would decide the State Intercollegiate Football Championship.
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