“Hey, mister,” a tiny voice called, “want a paper? Read all about the Yale prize boob what won for Harvard!”
Lefty increased his speed, hoping to escape from the boy, but before he had taken another step, the newsie was alongside of him.
The boy stared up into Lefty’s face, partly hidden by the turned down brim of his hat. In a moment, the former football player’s identity was discovered.
“Holy mackerel!” cried the youngster, “if it ain’t the guy what ran backward hisself!”
The man, flushed with anger and shame, brushed the boy aside, hurrying through a door that led to the men’s wash room, in fear that someone near by might have heard the newsie’s exclamation.
When the harassed college man entered the wash room, he was relieved to find the place deserted save for two Marines, one who was busily making his toilet, while the other sat perched on the bootblack stand, reading the evening paper.
These men, soldiers of the sea, would have little interest in football. For that matter, they probably didn’t even know a game had been played in town that day.
Taking no chances, the boy pulled his hat a trifle farther down over his eyes and walked to the farther corner of the room, unnoticed by the men in uniform.
“Say, I sure would like to get a peep at that guy,” the Marine perched on the bootblack’s stand finally broke the silence by saying. “I’ll bet he’s a fourteen carat pain in the arches.”
The Marine leaning over the washbasin looked up, with wet face and grinning from ear to ear.