A burly policeman, plainly conscious of fitting his uniform, paused for warning.
“No scrappin’ now! Don’t start nothin’ or I’ll run in the t’ree av yees!” he said, and sauntered on, twirling a graceful nightstick.
“Thee is a local man, judging from thy letters,” said the Quaker lady, to relieve the somewhat strained situation. “What do they stand for? E. P.? Oh, yes—El Paso, of course!”
“I saw you first!” said the Red Devil. “And with your disposition you would naturally find me more suitable. Make your choice of gridirons! Send him back to the side lines! Disqualify him for interference!”
“Don’t be hurried into a decision,” said Jeff. “Eternity is a good while. Before it’s over I’m going to be a—well, something more than a footballer. Golf, maybe—or tiddledywinks.”
The Quakeress glanced attentively from one to the other.
“Doubtless he will do his best to forward Thy Majesty’s interests,” she interposed. “Why not give him a chance?”
The devil shrugged his shoulders. “I always prefer to give this branch of work my personal attention,” he said stiffly.
“A specialty of thine?” mocked the girl.
The devil bowed sulkily.