“Was that Bosworth, Mike?” he panted, as he hailed the gatekeeper.
“I dunno the feller at all. I just axed him how the game was goin’ and he said two to wan fer Hillbury.”
“Was that all?” asked Dick, disappointed.
“No, sir, I axed him what inning, and he said the ind of the fift’; and I said how cud ye lave a close game like that right in the middle av it, and he said the sthrain was too much for his nerves. But they’s a chance for the byes yit, ain’t they?”
“I think so,” replied Dick, absently. He was contrasting the utter indifference stamped on Bosworth’s face as he sat among the enthusiasts, with this tale of nervous agitation. “Whose wheel is that?” he demanded abruptly, pointing to a bicycle leaning against the fence.
“Mine,” said Mike.
“Will you lend it to me for an hour?” went on Melvin, eagerly. “I’ve a very important errand to do.”
“Shure!” said Mike. The word was hardly out of his mouth before Melvin had seized the bicycle and was running it across the street. Mike and his comrade watched the student whip the machine through the yard opposite, over a wire fence, and across another lawn to a second street, where he mounted and sprinted off.
“He’s a divil to hustle, that bye,” remarked Mike. “Ye ought to see him kick a futball. He don’t hurry then, wan bit. It’s the ball does the hurryin’.”