During dinner Sam was tremendously curious to discover how and where his friend and Mary had met and what the scrape might be to which Crawford had referred. But his curiosity was unsatisfied. Mr. Smith refused to tell and Mary only smiled and shook her head when questioned.
The young people furnished most of the conversation during the meal. The recent football season and its triumphant ending were discussed, of course, and the prospects of the hockey team came in for its share. Sam, it appeared, was out for a place on the hockey squad.
“You must see some of the games, Mary,” he said. “I'll get tickets for you and Cousin Emily. You're crazy about sports, aren't you, Cousin Emily.”
Mrs. Wyeth regarded him through her eyeglasses.
“I imagine,” she observed, “that that remark is intended as a joke. I saw one football game and the spectacle of those boys trampling each other to death before my eyes, and of you, Samuel Keith, hopping up and down shrieking, 'Tear 'em up' and 'Smash 'em' was the nearest approach to insanity I ever experienced. Since that time I have regarded Doctor Eliot as President Emeritus of an asylum and NOT a university.”
Sam was hugely delighted. “That's football,” he declared. “I will admit that no one but lunatics like Crawford here play football. Hockey, now, is different. I play hockey.”
Crawford seemed surprised.
“Do you?” he asked, with eager interest. “No one has ever guessed it, not even the coach. You shouldn't keep it a secret from HIM, Sam.”
Miss Pease, having been invited out that day, was not present at dinner. After the coffee was served the irrepressible Sam proposed a walk.
“You won't care to go, Cousin Emily,” he said, “but I'm sure Mary will. It is a fine afternoon and she needs the air. Crawford isn't much of a walker; he can stay and keep Cousin Emily company. We won't be long.”