"It's High time for a drink," said Huey to his pal Puey, "so Ayres to Harvard, 14 to 7." He tipped his Glass.

"Boy, I can feel that Soloway Down. I guess I'll have a Donovan," and he reached again for the bottle. "As a matter of fact, I could drink a Duesing of 'em. You want one, Puey? I'll McEwen if I can Russell up another Lyman a lemon."

"Surt, Why naught?" assented Puey. "I'm game." He coughed.

"Say, you've got a ghastly Koufman, and you're Ashley pale," Huey said.

"Yeah, I've been Coughlin all week, but it doesn't MacKinney difference if I have a short snort." Huey gulped his drink. "Say, this Israel stuff. I feel like I've been Stark with a pin. I guess I won't be Sheehan much of the game with this stuff in my Lohr egions. We'd better not Delaney longer, or I won't be able to Pilate myself to the Stadium."

"Aw, quit trying to Kidney. Haweeli think you're fooling." Huey protested. "Your face looks funny, though."

"It must be Durweed alcohol that Barnes my stomach. It's enough to Kelly man. I can't Marsolini strength."

"Well, it's Hall-most game time," said Huay, "so watch your Stepczak or you'll fall on your Taylor. Stop Torcom so much and come with me."