“Where’s the old gent?” asked Leon, with an assumed air of carelessness. “I was slipping round to throw some pebbles up against your window, in which I saw a light, when I happened to notice you in here.”
“Father is out,” said Don, somewhat gruffly. “He won’t be back before ten. Come into the office.”
Leon followed with a swaggering air, and Don closed the door when they were in the room.
“So aunt won’t hear us talking,” he explained. “What do you want, anyhow?”
“Oh, I just came round to tell you,” chuckled Leon, coolly appropriating the office chair in front of the desk, where Don had been sitting. “It would have done you good to see that game to-day. Oh, my! but it was a slaughter!”
“Rockspur was beaten?” said Don, trying to repress a show of eagerness and great interest, but betraying his exultant satisfaction in his gleaming eyes.
“Beaten! I should guess yes. Rockspur wasn’t in it for a minute. It was a walk-over for Highland.”
“What was the score?”
“Thirty-three to nine. How does that suit you? Isn’t that a beautiful record for Sterndale’s champs? Oh, but Sterndale is sick!”
“What did you do?” demanded Scott, sharply. “Did you do anything crooked to help lose the game?”