“Do you play football?” Johnson asked suddenly.
“No, I never cared anything about it.”
“Baseball?”
“Only a little.”
“Basketball?” Johnson persisted.
“No.”
“Well, where in thunder did you get that build if you have never worked and don’t do any athletic stunts?” Johnson was searching for something to account for Scott’s five feet ten and one hundred and seventy-five pounds, his heavy shoulders and muscular neck. He had the Westerner’s contempt for the tenderfoot of the East. He was not at all surprised that he could not do anything, but was puzzled at his fine physique.
“Oh,” said Scott, “I got that wrestling, boxing and walking around the country. There was an ex-prizefighter who worked for father and he used to give me lessons in the barn every evening.”
Johnson pricked up his ears. “A boxer,” he thought. “Maybe the man was not so helpless after all.”
“You’ll have to box Morgan,” he said aloud, “and if you can do him, you’ll have to fight for the College on rush day. Will you do it?”