“It seems to me we’ll have a good School team,” said Collingwood, “but no second eleven capable of giving them hard practice—the kind they’ll need to beat St. John’s. If we could only arrange one or two games with outside teams, to put us into shape—”
“I was thinking of that,” said Barclay. “I wonder if we mightn’t get the Harvard Freshmen up here. They have a good eleven, apparently.”
“Yes, awfully good, from all that the papers say. Don’t you suppose their schedule is filled up?”
“It may be—but perhaps they could give us a date. Suppose you come over to my house this evening and we’ll send a letter off to their captain. And I’m sure”—Barclay threw the remark out in the most casual manner—“Mr. Upton will be glad to approach them for us through his brother.”
“His brother? Who’s that?”
“Why, didn’t you know? His brother plays left end on the team—”
“Kiddy Upton’s brother on the Harvard Freshmen! No!”
“Whose brother?”
“Mr. Upton’s, I meant to say.” Louis grinned. “Is he really, Mr. Barclay?”
“I’m rather surprised you didn’t know it. But I guess Mr. Upton is the kind that doesn’t talk much.”