Just at that moment Parkman, the straggler, arrived in the camp. There was a queer expression on his face as he sidled up toward Lenning, turning away suddenly when he found the colonel’s eyes upon him.
“Got here at last, eh, Parkman?” observed Hawtrey pleasantly. “I suppose you were mending some of your gear. It’s a good thing to overhaul your football equipment occasionally and make sure that everything is in proper trim for use.”
A blank look crossed Parkman’s face, but vanished when he caught a significant glance from Lenning.
“That’s right, sir,” said Parkman, and walked away.
“I heard,” spoke up Lenning, “that Darrel met with an accident yesterday. I—I hope it wasn’t serious?”
He threw a doubtful look at the colonel as he put the question. The colonel seemed to be paying little attention to what was said, and yet Frank felt sure that he saw a glint of sudden anxiety rise in his eyes.
“Broken arm, that’s all,” replied Merry. “Darrel will be all right in a few weeks.”
“You’d better take your crowd out for a little signal practice, Jode,” suggested the colonel. “I’ll go with you. It will soon be time for the game,” he finished, looking at his watch.
“Good idea, sir,” assented Lenning; and called to the Gold Hill players.
With the colonel at his side, Lenning led the way toward the mesa. Parkman dodged along at their heels, seeking a chance for a word in private with Lenning, but finding none.