“How about Anthony’s date with Cleopatra?”
Bob Hollister grinned a little sheepishly.
“Heard about that, have you?” he inquired, as he dropped down on a chair. “I suppose that’ll be rubbed into me for the next six months. What the deuce did I know about Roman history? I was doping out a new around-the-end combination.”
“Sh! Careful!” cautioned Elwell, with upraised finger.
Hollister looked bewildered.
“What’s the matter?” he asked quickly.
“No football talk,” returned the Hoosier, with a grin. “Our esteemed, ex-temporary captain objects to it in the sacred privacy of his apartment.”
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” gasped Hollister. “Not talk about football! What in the mischief else is there to talk about?”
Dick smiled.
“You have got it bad, Bob,” he remarked. “Don’t you ever think about anything else?”