Now he was studying the list carefully.
"They're all good football men," sighed Dick.

"All men whose aid in the football squad is much needed." "Drayne is the stuck-up chap, who uses the broad 'a' in his speech, and carries his nose up at an angle of forty-five degrees," chuckled Dan Dalzell.

"He's the fellow I mortally offended by nicknaming him 'Sewers,' to mimic his name of 'Drayne.'" "That wouldn't be enough to keep him out of football," remarked Dave quietly.
Dick looked up suddenly from his list.
"Fellows," he announced, "I've made one discovery." "Out with it!" ordered Dan.
"Perhaps you can guess for yourselves what I have just found." "We can't," admitted Hazelton meekly.

"Please tell us, and save us racking our brains." "Well, it's curious," continued Dick slowly, "but every one of these fellows---I believe you've given me all the names of the 'soreheads'" "We have," affirmed Tom Reade.
"Well, I've just noted that every fellow on my sorehead roll of honor belongs to one of our families of wealth in Gridley." Dick paused to look around him, to see how the announcement impressed his chums.
"Do you mean," hinted Hazelton, "that the soreheads are down on football because they prefer automobiles ?" "No." Dick Prescott shook his head emphatically.
"By Jove, Dick, I believe you're right," suddenly exclaimed Dave Darrin.
"So you see my point, old fellow ?" "I'm sure I do." "I'm going to get examined for spectacles, then," sighed Dan plaintively.
"I can't see a thing." "Why, you ninny," retorted Dave scornfully, "the football 'soreheads' have been developing that classy feeling.

They wear better clothes than we do, and have more pocket money.