Page:The Winning Touchdown.djvu/92



" it all!" burst out Phil Clinton, as he tossed aside his trigonometry.

"What's the matter?" inquired Tom, looking up from his Latin prose.

"Have you got the dink-bots?" was Sid's gentle question, as he kept on carefully mounting a butterfly, one of the specimens he had captured during the summer, and had laid aside until a leisure moment to care for properly.

"I don't know what it is, but I can't get my mind down to study," went on the quarter-back.

"You never could," declared Tom, fortifying himself behind the sofa in case Phil should turn violent.

It was the evening after the Freshman game, and the three chums were in their study, after the meeting with the big Californian, as Frank Simpson had at once been dubbed. He had been directed to his room, which was on the floor above the apartment of our heroes, and he had gone off thanking them warmly.