In fact, Prescott
had all but ceased to remember the accident.
For the others, the days had been full of football training, with
long tramps and fishing and berrying jaunts thrown in for amusement.
Now that Tag Mosher was safely locked up in the county jail there
had been no more raids on the food supplies of the camp. It was
now necessary, therefore, to leave but one boy at a time in the
camp, and Dick, while his hip was mending, had usually been that
one.
Every member of Dick & Co. was brown as a berry. Muscles, too,
were beginning to stand out with a firmness that had never been
observed at home in the winter time. Enough more of this camping
and hard work and training, and Dick & Co. were likely to return
to Gridley as six condensed young giants. Nothing puts the athlete
in shape as quickly as does camping, combined with training, in
the summer time.
This morning the work had begun with practice kicks, passing from
that to the work of tackling the dummy. Two hours of hard work
had now been put in, and all were comfortably tired.
"Let's keep quiet and cool off," urged Dick at last. "Then for
the swimming pool and clean clothes."
"I wonder if Tag has died yet, as he expected to, now that he's
out of the forest and locked up in a jail?" mused Tom Reade aloud.
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